#I STARTED LEARNING SPANISH so manuel gets to speak more spanish now

[solargeist]

HEY GHOSTLYT IS ME SKRETRI AGAIN

EH EH I JUST THOUGHT SOME NICKNAMES FOR MANUEL HGDJHDXHSHD

"Manu" & "Manuelito"

Manuelito is like Manuel but in diminutive in Spanish IS SO CUTEEEEEE AMSBMXMSNX

ADJKGADJK Manuelito......... it does roll off the tongue well lolol, Piper finds out abt the "-Ito-" and immediately calls him this

[cantfightmoonlight]

"¡Aye dios mio!" Jas exclaimed as she got out of the car door, slamming the door behind her as she wandered around to grab her dad's bags. She had opted to meet them both at the Daily Drip for coffee and drive with them up to the cabin given that it wasn't the easiest place to find and she wanted to have a minute to get a read on how they were feeling about the whole 'got married without telling you' thing, before she introduced them to Nico. But, she hadn't realized that it meant she'd be bickering with one dad in Spanish the entire car ride up to the house. "¡Ni siquiera lo has conocido todavía! Dale una oportunidad y por favor no actúes como el tipo duro. And don't do the whole good cop, bad cop, thing okay? Por favor, te lo ruego," She pleaded as she began to lift out the first suitcase only to be told off by her fathers.

"¿Qué estás haciendo? Déjame tomar eso. Es mi equipaje. Debería ser yo quien lo cargue y no es mi culpa que nadie sea lo suficientemente bueno para mi hija," Manuel grumbled out, his words streaming out a mile per minute as he took the suitcase from Jas. Proceeding to unload the other two bags Sammy had brought with him as well.

"English, por favor. You're both speaking too fast," Sammy pleaded as he climbed out of the car himself. "You'd think I'd have picked more of it up after all this time," He let out a sigh as he moved to kiss him husband lightly on the cheek for carrying in their stuff for them.

"She had no problem learning. I don't know why it's so hard for you," Manuel rolled his eyes lightly over, though a smile found its way across his lips at the show of affection his husband gave him.

"Anyways," Jas cleared her throat, motioning to the cabin behind them as she started to lead them both inside. "This is the house. I can show you both to where you two will be staying with Noel while Nico and I will be out in the RV and I already changed the bedsheets, so please don't try to change the room arrangements. Okay?" She looked over at Sammy as if for her to help her out here as Manuel chimed in again.

"Wha- no. No. We're not kicking our daughter and her imaginary husband out of there room. We'll sleep in the RV. You two can have the house with Noelia-" He started to attest.

"Oh for the love of- He's not imaginary," She groaned out, pinching the brim of her nose as she tried to resist the eye roll that was surely coming.

"Well, he's imaginary to me since he didn't seem to exist two weeks ago."

"Manuel," Sammy tsked, despite the corner of his lips itching ever so slightly up at the quip.

"What? She set me up for perfectly for that one and you know she did."

"Okay, are you two done or are you ready to meet my very real husband for the first time, preferably on your best behavior?" She whined out, shooting them both a pleading look as she heard the door behind her swing open.

She wasn't sure how much of their conversation Nico overheard from inside the house given his super hearing, but she had a feeling it was likely more than she would have wanted. Thunder's footsteps were heard first as the pup went barely towards her parents. Manny's face lightly up as he practically scooped the rather large puppy up in his arms with ease. "And who might this be? Is this the boyfriend we heard nothing about?"

"Dad!" Jas exclaimed. Shooting him a narrowed eyed look as she glanced back over her shoulder and gave Nico a sheepish smile. She had tried to prep Nico as much as humanly possible for what he might be walking into, but she was quickly realizing there was no way to humanly prep someone for all of this. "Anyways," She let out a small gulp as she glanced back helplessly over at Nico who was now standing beside her. "Dads, this is Nico. Nico this is the dads."

@nicocastillo

[christineeej94]

Extremely❤Part three

a/n:tell me if you want to make other parts to ‘Extremely’. I hope you gonna love it. I cry so much writing this part. Kisses🌻

Warnings: bad language.

Word count: 1.960

“My dear, Arón Julio Manuel Piper Barbero aka my love of my life

  I´m writing this to you with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes. It´s like a love letter, don´t get it like a break up note, please. I let you in the envelop the first reason I left and that´s our baby. Yes, it´s sound unimaginable, me and you having a kid at this young age. I don´t want to give up on this pregnancy and kept the baby, I am sure that you will be happy when you gonna read this. I left you because you weren’t no more in my life and it still hurts so bad. I lost my nights thinking when you were, if you are safe or if you ate something. I’ve seen signs that you came home but I couldn’t feel your warm body next to mine. Your bed side was cold and empty like my soul in this moment. I don’t know what cause this breaking in our relationship but sometimes we shouldn’t think at those things. I going to raise our child by myself and when I’m going to be ready maybe I’m going to presented to his father.

 I love you more and I hate you more,

 (Y/N) aka your love of your life” 

  I memorated my letter to him and I repeat it in my mind every morning. His memories don’t let me sleep at all and I still can feel his touches. It’s a month from that moment when I let everything behind me and I left. My soul broke in millions of pieces and I can’t repair it until I found my happiness again.

   I’m living in a village by the ocean, near to Valencia and I like it here and it gives me quietness. My bump grows a little and it’s barely noticeable. I’m starting wear large clothes and eating healthier. Today I’m going to buy something for my little apartment and usually I do my shopping at the local market. I love to go there and talk with merchants and some people I met when I moved here. About a week ago I met a lovely couple, of age with my parents, and weirdly they look kinda familiar. I waved to the curly head lady and I went closer to her. Today she is alone and she already done her groceries.

“Hello, what a beautiful day.” She greets me and I salute her back. “And the little one grows day by day.” Her hands rub my little belly and I giggle. She has a gentle touch and she reminds me of Arón. “Yeah, she is growing fast.” I said melancholic. “She? You think it’s a girl?” the lady said and we are going together to a handmade store. “I feel it. I feel that the baby inside me is a girl. A little baby girl Piper.” I said sadly and the woman next to me stairs at my face for a second. “You didn’t tell me why you come here alone. What happened?”

I smiled softly. ”My boyfriend forgot about me and he starting to spend his night out too much. He sporadically came home at a decent hour. I didn’t feel his love that much.” I explain and the woman approve smiling sad. “Maybe in the future you are going to forgive him.” Her voice is soft and calm.

 I looked at her and a lot of memories come in my mind. Our first kiss, when we first slept together, when I met him on that yacht. And I realized how much I still love him. “I already forgot him. Because I love him, but that’s doesn’t mean that I’m going back to him. He needs to learn his lesson and if he cheated on me, I’m not coming back at all.” I replied and a tear fall on my cheek. “Don’t cry, hermosa, everything is going to be okay.” She hugged me and I hugged her tight. I miss him so much and my soul hurts so bad because I want to jump in the first train to Madrid and go back to him. I want to squeeze him in my arms and I want to tell him that I LOVE HIM. “Saturday come to our house and let’s have lunch together. What do you think?” “Sure, I’ll be there.” I hugged her again and I continue to shop what I need.

After the shopping, I got home save but very tired. This pregnancy is already giving me tiredness and I’m feeling very weak. I open my phone and I called Ester. She is the only person who I keep in touch. Besides my parents who don’t know about my baby. I appeal her and after the third tone she answered. 

“Hey, chica, what my niece is doing?” I laugh. Ester thinks that my baby is a girl too. “She alright, got me tired” I said and I heard a load noise from Ester. “Arón, don´t… .” Ester screams and my heart stops. I heard a thud and another scream. It’s him. “Boys, hold him. (Y/N), I’m on set and he got crazy every time my phone rings. I didn’t tell him where you go. Now I need to go, love ya.” She ends the call and I fell on the floor crying. He doesn’t forget me or he’s just frustrated because I left without an explanation. I put myself in bed and I listen the waves breaking of the shore.

 I couldn’t sleep last night and every night from that call. Maybe I shouldn’t have left and I should have stayed with him. I run like a loser and now I regret my decision. Fuck no, he left me in the first place.

I get up tired and run to bathroom for my morning routine to throw up everything I ate a night before. My morning sickness is bad day by day but I control it with some lime water. I horrible to be alone, mostly in this period but I manage myself. Today it’s Saturday and I don’t want to go anywhere but I promise to this lovely lady. I open the dressing and I found my yellow dress which I wore it when I go on my first date with Arón. It was at coffee shop in the downtown aria, he picked me up from my home and when he left me back at my place, we had the sweetest kiss in the universe.  

I put on the dress and it´s mold around my belly, accentuated the little bump. I wear a light makeup and I put on some flip-flops and I take the tart a baked last night. It’s the only sweet thing that I can make, besides pancakes. Actually, is Arón’s favorite and I thought that it will be nice to bring something. At noon the streets are empty, you can barely see a dog or a cat crossing the road. I like here, it’s peaceful and I love to smell the salty air every time I open the window or I’m walking down the street. The house where the curly hair lady is living with her husband it’s so beautiful, they are having a huge garden with flowers and trees. The house is in a very old fashion Spanish style, painted in a light blue. First, I was greeted by two fluffy dogs who started to bark at me. They stop when the lady got out from the house and smiled at me.

 “(Y/N), I didn’t think you are coming or not, come on, the lunch is ready.” I entered in the house and a strong cologne hit my senses. Smells exactly like Arón and I need to stay a little get my shit together. “I bring a lemon meringue tart.” I handed her the box with the tart and she smiled friendly, pointed me the table. I found her husband there and he hugged me.

“You look good, please sit down.” He encouraged me to sit down and I observe that on the table are 4 plates, not three. “Sorry, it’s someone else is coming?” He smiled softly and drinks some water from his glass. “My son, he didn’t announce us sooner that he’s coming to visit us.” “It’s alright, I can leave if I’m furthermore.” I said and he stopped me. “No, you are welcome here like he is. Honey, bring the food, I’m sure our guest is hungry.” He gets up and go probably to the kitchen.

“(Y/N)” I heard my name called and my blood freeze in my veins. I turn around I can’t believe what I’m seeing. My body is blocked on the chair and I can’t move or speak. He is here. In flesh. “Baby, I’m sorry for my behavior. I’m sorry that I wasn’t beside you when you need me.” Arón looks at my bump and smiles. “Our baby is growing.” I get up ready to run, but why. I love him and he is here, giving me an explanation. “What are you doing here? How you found me?” I mumbled, ready to cry my ass off. “The couple from the other room are my parents. When my mom called me and told me that she met you I was in shock.” I am too. I figured out why they were familiar to me. “I was ready to leave everything and come here, but she told me that you need time.” He is changed. Now he has a new haircut for the series and also have huge bags under his beautiful eyes. He takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

“In the night after Ester’s birthday, I met Carlos again in the club, he drugged me and put me said some things, bad things. He filmed me and then he blackmailed me. I spend the nights with Miguel and a lawyer trying to do get a way out from this shit. He didn’t want money, he wanted to sleep again with me. But it was impossible because I love you. I’m sorry for let you down and for not telling you.” He come closer and I looked in his wet eyes. He is sad and depressed and I see that. Because I’m too and I believe him.

“Fuck, I missed you so much” I jumped in his arms and I started to cry loud. He rubbed my back with his big hands to relax me. “I love you and I’m sorry because I left.” I kissed his lips and he responded me. “I love you too, mamá” he mumbled.

After we cuddled for a while, we decided to get up and to meet properly his parents. They got me. I laughed when his mom told me that she handles herself not to cursing his son and for not telling me who they are.  We ate together and I’m happy. I hold his hand the whole lunch even if was hard for us to eat. I don’t want to leave him never again.

“So that’s your apartment here” Arón remarks and I approve. “It’s cozy” he added. “Our home is waiting for us when you are ready to come back” “I’m ready.” I kissed his lips putting my arms around him. He groans in my mouth and slaps my ass. “Your ass is bigger.” he smirks and kisses my forehead. “I’m fat now.” “You are just a sexy mamá.” “Mhm, let me present you the bedroom.” I said passional and grab his hand in mine. “I was waiting for this”. I lift his t-shirt and he put his hands on my belly.

“Hey, bebé, daddy is speaking to you. Sorry for making mommy upset. I love you.” 

[andyinmiddleearth]

Welcome to my brain (non-fandom related edition)

Hey there! This is a personal side blog for my main @fandomblr, mostly cause I’m tired of seeing non-fandom related posts and not being able to reblog them cause my main is a fandom blog. I probably will be more active on main but here I’ll reblog (and occasionally make my own original posts) content related to the LGBTQIA community, social justice, feminism, BLM, race, culture, and ethnicity, disability, neurodivergency, mental health, and anything else that isn’t fandom related. So here’s a few things about me:

My name is Adrián, I use he/him/they/thempronouns. Specifically they/them are okay too but I prefer he/him better.

I’m 20 years old and currently a college student, so once my classes start you’ll see me interact significantly less on my blog.

I’m a 1.5 gen Mexican American immigrant, my parents had me born here on accident and then went back to Mexico City, where I was raised for twelve years until I came back to the US. I’ve been living in the US for eight years now.

I’m physically disabled and wear a foot brace irl and I’m neurodiverse (OCD, autistic, diagnosed with depression but working on it)

I’m a transmasc non-binary trans guy (my specific label is genderfaun) that is also gray-asexual and aroflux biromantic.

I’ve had multiple Tumblrs before that I deleted due to the fact that I was often harassed and cyberbullied anonymously and on my posts by transmeds, TERFS, and ace/aro exclusionists for being vocal on trans and ace discourse, so I ask that these people do not interact.

I’m Mexican so I’m a native Spanish speaker, so feel free to interact with me in español. También voy a reblogear posts en español de vez en cuando si encuentro algunos.

Speaking of discourse, I may reblog some stuff about trans and ace discourse but I’m gonna try to avoid making original posts myself cause again, don’t want to get death threats and slurs on my inbox and in my posts. I was literally targeted by neo-Nazis on this site for being openly LGBT and Mexican soooo yeahh we’re trying to avoid that again. Anyways, here are some of my beliefs:

You don’t need gender dysphoria (discomfort that comes from gender incongruence) to be trans, all you need is gender incongruence (the disconnect between your gender identity and your assigned sex at birth)

Ace and aro people belong in LGBTQIA spaces. Yes, even if they are straight and cisgender.

Trans women are women, period. I’m done being harassed by TERFS on this site, if you’re a TERF or a radfem you get blocked on sight.

Black Lives Matter, even if your feed is back to normal. In the words of Lin-Manuel Miranda, “this is not a moment, it’s the movement.”

Neopronouns and lesser known specific “MOGAI” labels don’t hurt anyone and are valid (few exceptions are with identities made up by trolls like ACAB/ACABself pronouns).

As a pale Latino I have a lot of white privilege because of my skin tone. That doesn’t mean I don’t experience oppression for my ethnicity; I still experience xenophobia and occasional racism once people find out I’m from Mexico. But I have a lot of privilege that BIPOC people do not have, especially my brown and Afro-Latino siblings. So I do my best to be an ally to people of color and learn about anti-racism.

I’m a male feminist, aka I believe all genders are equal (yes ofc I believe in non-binary genders, I myself am non-binary)

That’s about it for my beliefs, so yeah! Feel free to follow, submit posts, send asks on and off anon (but if I start getting lots of anon hate again then I’ll turn it off) or DM me. And again, transmeds, TERFs, and ace/aro exclusionists do not fucking interact. If you are any of these you will be blocked on sight.

[verooquieremimir]

Tysm for the tag @botherkupo

Nicknames: Everybody calls me Vero and Verito except for my family xD

Zodiac sign: Cancer

Height: 5′ 3” / 162 cm

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff :D

Last thing I googled: The Help pdf, I watched the movie yesterday and now I need to read the book.

Song stuck in my head: Heal the World by Michael Jackson

Fav musicians: Lin-Manuel Miranda, Alessia Cara, Imagine Dragons, Ed Sheeran, Pentatonix, Sleeping At last, Camila Gallardo, Rubén Blades, Sia and so many more!

Following: 953 

Followers: 422 on this blog c: (thanks for following me!)

Do you get asks: Soooooooometimes but few.

Amount of sleep: 6 hours 

Lucky number: my favorite number is 4, I don’t know if it is my lucky number xD

What are you wearing: Pijamas... It’s 9 am and I don’t have classes :)

Dream job: Okay now I’m in a vocational crisis and I start university next year *gulp* but I really want to work in something with human rights and also I love history so I would love to work in something related to it.

Dream trip: Last week I saw some pictures of Cartagena de Indias (Colombia) and it’s so beautiful! It’s like frozen in the past<3

Instruments you play: ... I used to know like three songs in piano and in guitar but I can't say play them.

Languages you speak: Spanish is my first language<3 I do my best with English. Also, my school is german but the years I studied there the german was in crisis at my school... I learned a little and I even passed some international exams I have no idea how that happened but I really didn’t learn much, sadly I can’t say I speak german.

Fav song:  Okay this one is so hard, probably if you asked me tomorrow I would say another, Found/Tonight by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Ben Platt.

Random fact: I have a guinea pig<3 Her name is Canela (Cinnamon). She loves to eat and sleep... we are so alike xD

Cats or dogs: I love both but I prefer dogs one day I’ll have one *sobs*

Aesthetic: I have no idea how to answer this help For fashion I love flowers and ethnic patterns. Jeans, wide-leg pants, hoop earrings, bracelets, platforms shoes, sandals, and similar-to-converse-shoes I don’t have any converse though. For colors, I love wearing reddish colors that aren’t that intense, black and light colors.  

For decorating I like wood, illuminated places and there has to be some vegetation... I have no idea how to continue this so I’ll do it in another way, if you asked me, in general, my aesthetic would be: rainy days, wind, autumn hot cocoa, big jumpers, big socks, listening to music with headphones, books, sunsets, sunrises, old villages with tons of flowers and colors, people smiling, dancing, watercolors, stargazing.

I’m tagging (feel free to ignore me): @thecrazyladybug @alpharosetdr @clawsout83 @volpinarena @buginettez @kaleidoscoperain @heizerux @dahliycia @awholelotofladybug and anybody else who wants to do it :D

[sarakuper]

San Rafael; Work Away

Stop #3, December 21-January 7

Our time in San Rafael was very relaxing, thrilling, and interesting. Some days we spent doing little to nothing, which was nice for a few days but too boring for me at some points. Other days Sean and I did some awesome activities pushing us both way out of our comfort zones. Lastly, we experienced authentic Colombian culture first hand. Being there for holidays and festivals meant we were there for some of the most quiet and exciting days of the year.

When we arrived on Saturday we had no idea what to expect. This stop being our first WorkAway, we wondered…what work would we be doing? How many hours were expected of us? Are any meals included? For that first day we hung out and enjoyed the beautiful location at the hostel, which is located on a steep hill, completely open and overlooking the city. It’s totally lush and absolutely beautiful. The view alone is a reason to spend all day in the hostel relaxing. 

There are 3 people who own the hostel, all Colombian, and all in their 20’s. Lili was there when we arrived, Manuel arrived the next day (Sunday), and Laura arrived after spending Christmas with her family in Medellin. Immediately after arriving Sean and I fell in love with their cat Canela, which is “cinnamon” in Spanish. We thought she was a kitten because she isn’t full sized, but it turns out she is an old lady! She lived on the property with the previous owner, who was thought to be not very kind to her. When Lili, Laura, and Manuel bought the place about a year ago, Canela was pregnant with a dead litter. They paid to have them surgically removed, and since then Canela has been their beloved pet. She is so cuddly and sweet. She jumps on your lap for pets or a nap, and she answer to your calls. She’s the kind of cat that acts like a dog. We immediately fell in love with her. It’s not like we are trying to fill a void or anything... :)

When Manuel arrived on Sunday we discussed the work we would be doing; we would redo the kitchen (and it really needed it) and lunch would be provided. We started making plans for this work Monday morning. I was going to repaint the kitchen and organize it differently while Sean would build some cabinet doors and shelves. Our work load was different each day. Sometimes we felt good with the work we were doing that we spent hours doing it. Other days we did little to nothing. Either way, Leidy and Karen came every morning to clean the hostel, and during our first week Leidy cooked us lunch too. And wow did she cook us the most delicious healthy food!!!

Leidy and Karen live in the same building as the hostel/language school in a separate apartment. Leidy is probably in her late 30’s or early 40’s, and Karen is her 10 year old daughter. Neither of them spoke a word of english, but they quickly became a big part of our trip in San Rafael. Since Karen was off from school she came to help her mom cook and clean every morning. One morning I was doing some henna on hands and legs when Karen told me “linda!” which means “cute” or “pretty” in Spanish. I asked her if she wanted one, and when she said yes I told her to ask her mom first. Next thing you know, I was giving henna tattoos to both Karen and Leidy; mandala type flowers on their legs and their names written on their wrists. I wish I took a photo of this, but I didn’t :(. I did however take a picture of my henna, and finally took a picture with Leidy and Karen on our last day.

From then on, Karen and I would hang out together almost every morning. She would help me study Spanish while also helping her mom work. I would pull up a new vocabulary word I wanted to learn from an app on my phone, and she and I would practice using that word in a sentence. She would then correct my awful grammar before moving on to the next new word. Some evenings after that I saw Karen and Leidy hanging out outside or walking into town. We always talked and all made efforts to communicate as much as possible. My broken Spanish was enough to connect with both of them, but what it really highlighted was that you don’t need to speak the same language to express love and kindness.

Over Christmas Eve we joined Lili’s boyfriend, Brandon, at his house where he was hosting a BBQ. And that’s exactly how Colombians celebrate Christmas; they BBQ on the street with beers and loud music. And they were kind enough to grill lots of veggies for me :)

During our time in San Rafael we experienced some epic thunder storms. It rained almost every night, and being in a hostel where the common area is wide open made the storms so fun. Normally when we went into town we did so in the evening and nights, only because the days were so hot, and so walking up and down the hills to the city center was a bit warm… but, every time we went out at night it was like a guessing game if we would get poured on. Every night was cloudy, so there was really no telling. It made it a little more fun :) I love rain in warm weather! 

Another day, after working and panting in the morning, we went to the nearest watering hole for a quick swim. Lili’s mom was in town, so we went together plus Bendzhi, a Chinese girl staying at our hostel long term. The watering hole was amazing for people watching. So many locals go there to cool off and swim. Kids ands dogs run around everywhere while vendors sell snacks from fresh fruit to churros. I wish I had photos, but it was better to bring little to nothing since we were ditching our stuff to go swimming.

Steve was another guy at our hostel, probably in his mid 40’s, and from Canada. We spent a good amount of time with him, especially after hiking to a waterfall with him, and Manuel. The hike was pretty short but beautiful. We walked right by horses and cows/bulls before approaching the waterfall.

Just before NYE Lili left to spend time in San Carlos, another town about an hour west, for the next month or so. Laura and Manuel both went to meet Manuel’s family, and so Sean and I had the hostel to ourselves. We went out in town and hung out at a bar until midnight, when everyone got up to hug and kiss each other. Soon after Sean and I went home to hit the hay. Neither of us were feeling great (my throat was sore and he had an allergy attack), plus we don’t particularly care much for this holiday.  

Something I loved about staying at this hostel was that on most days a group of small monkeys would come looking for food. Of course we bought bananas in preparation of this, and fed them quite often. They are so small and so cute!!! They would call at us until we fed them their beloved bananas.

The most exciting thing we did during our time in San Rafael was a canyoneering trip with Manuel, his sister Julianna, and her husband Freddy. We hiked to a spot along a river, got into wet suits and harnesses, and began our decent in the river. We slid down the rocks, jumped off cliffs, and repelled our way through the river. Sean’s fear of heights kicked in during the last part of the activity. But, there we were.. and there was no turning back! This trip was short, but seriously one of the coolest things we’ve done. We were so high on life from the awesome adventure it was!

Another day Manuel and Laura invited us on a fishing trip again with his sister and brother in law. We fished along a river, and although Sean and I both didn’t catch anything we still enjoyed the experience very much. Colorful birds where flying all around us, calling out to each other, and it was really beautiful to watch. Eventually we made our way to a waterfall where we “parked” our boats to go explore. We climbed to the top of the waterfall where we found a beautiful swimming hole to enjoy all to ourselves. We explored deeper, climbing up the next small waterfall. It was absolutely stunning, and easily the highlight of the fishing trip. We swam and jumped off the rocks (don’t worry- Manuel, a certified guide, checked to see that they were safe first) while enjoying all the beauty around us.

The next day we had the opportunity to visit a Panela farm, watching its production from start to finish. Panela is the natural sweetener widely used here in Colombia, and I think a lot of Latin America. It comes in thick blocks that are chipped at and use as sweeter for many of their drinks, specifically chocolate (the drink) and natural juice. We started by crushing the sugarcane using a machine, followed by a long cleaning process to purify the juice before it crystalizes into a sugar. The colombian family that owns the farm has been making Panela all their lives. The whole operation is run between 4 siblings; 3 brothers and 1 sister, all in their 70’s. The abuela welcomed us into her beautiful home and made us breakfast, and then lunch once it got late enough in the afternoon. I am so grateful to have been welcomed to this family’s farm and home with arms open wide. The love they put into this work, and the history behind it all makes it so special. For so many reasons this day was one I will never forget.

One of the last events that went on while we were gone (and yes, wow, a lot has really happened) was Festivo del Rio, festival of the river. We are not sure how the name is related to the celebrations, but what we do know is that this small town fills up with tons of Colombians from all over the country to come celebrate this festival at San Rafael. Restaurants were packed, the hostel we stayed at was fully booked, and the streets were crowded with happy people. On Friday night we watched part of the parade, where structures of mythical creatures ran the streets breathing fire and pure fun.

At the beginning of this post I wrote that times during this leg of the trip I was bored, yet I didn’t get to writing any of this post until the bus ride out of town. I didn’t realize how many special experiences we had until it was time to write about it. But thats exactly why I do this :)

And now that I am writing this while on the bus leaving San Rafael, it feels bitter sweet to leave. This town is so authentically Colombian. The only other English speakers we met were 3 others from our hostel, one Canadian, one American, and one Chinese who spoke English fluently. Saying goodbye was so sweet, as Laura told me that seeing my face is like getting a dose a diabetes. There’s a bit of a language barrier there.. but what she was saying is that I’m so sweet and she feels that every time she sees my face 😂. As for Leidy and Karen... well Leidy starting to cry. I told her “I miss you” in Spanish because I have no idea how to speak in future tense to say “I will miss you”. Karen, her 10 year old daughter who was my best friend on this leg of the trip, gave me hugs goodbye. I will miss practicing Spanish with her very much. She actually knows how to explain things to me better than the adults!

Anyway, I am so looking forward to Josh’s arrival! This is just the start of what I think will be a very fun month with friends (Sam and Victoria next week) and then my mom and cousin Maria in Cartagena! 

Thanks for reading fam, love you all.

[callboxkat]

(Un)Broken - part 6

Author’s note: Sorry for the wait! I hope you guys like this one.

Warnings: food mention, headache mention, kinda implied racism?, Remy being an angsty boy

Word count: 1106

Look for the masterpost in the notes!

...

That afternoon, Virgil had a shift at the record shop he worked at; so, it was rather late by the time he made it back to the crummy apartment complex he called home.

He entered his apartment and shut the door behind him as silently as the hinges allowed. All the lights in the apartment were off, including those in Remy’s room—the door was half-open—but Virgil could see a bluish glow within, roughly where Remy’s bed was. Probably from either his laptop or his phone.

Remy didn’t call out a greeting, and Virgil just crept past, not wanting to get yelled at like he had the day before. One of the floorboards creaked under his foot, but Remy still didn’t acknowledge him.

Virgil wondered what was going on with him. They’d gotten the insomnia thing sorted out months before, hadn’t they? And it was spring, so the odds were that it wasn’t related to his seasonal depression. Something must have happened on Monday.

Should he try to ask? Or would he just get yelled at again? Virgil honestly had no idea.

He ended up settling for spending the rest of the evening hanging out in the main room, rather than in his bedroom, in case Remy decided that he wanted to talk.

Even so, Virgil was surprised when, a few hours later, he heard shuffling footsteps coming up behind the couch. He turned his head to look, and there was his roommate: he had a blanket tugged around his shoulders, his sunglasses on crooked, and his hair hanging down in loose tangles. Virgil silently moved his feet so there’d be room for him to sit down.

Remy did so, sighing heavily. For several long minutes, neither of them said anything, just watching the television, which was playing a rerun of an old game show.

“Sorry,” Remy said, breaking the silence. His voice cracked in a way that sounded almost painful. Had… had he been crying?

“Hm?”

“Sorry,” Remy repeated. He cleared his throat. “For yelling at ya earlier.”

“You mean yesterday?”

Remy was silent for a second. “Right,” he commented absently.

“I mean…” Virgil sighed. “It’s fine, I guess.” Part of him wanted to be more upset about having been told to ‘f--- off’, but Remy looked pretty rough. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm.” Remy leaned the back of his head against the couch. “Nah, girl,” he admitted, shutting his eyes.

“’Nah’?” Virgil echoed. “What’s going on?”

There was another long silence. Virgil was starting to wonder if his roommate had fallen asleep, when Remy suddenly moved, pushing himself up from the couch in one quick movement.

“Good night,” he muttered, shuffling off back towards his room. Virgil stared after him.

…

“So,” Virgil asked conversationally at lunch the next day, glancing at Roman. “Can I ask you something?”

The three friends—Virgil, Roman, and Patton—were all sitting together in the cafeteria. Logan still wasn’t there. None of them had seen him that day, and he hadn’t responded to a text that Patton had sent asking if he was coming.

Patton seemed agitated, pushing around his food with his fork without making any move to take a bite. Virgil himself was growing increasingly uneasy, too, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. He needed to create some sort of distraction, anything to keep him and the others from their worry. He’d have preferred to talk with Patton directly, but he wasn’t sure that Patton would actually answer him.

“Certainly,” Roman said, setting down his own fork.

“Why’d you only start learning Spanish when you were four? Your mom’s a native speaker, isn’t she? Or did you just say that so I’d feel better about you helping me with my paper?”

Roman grinned. “Well, first of all, that was three questions,” he joked, holding up his pointer finger. “But, that was true. And both of my parents were native speakers, actually.”

Virgil gave him a baffled look.

“I think they wanted not to speak Spanish,” Roman shrugged. “They changed their mind when Emilio was born, though.”

“Why wouldn’t they want you to speak Spanish?” Patton asked, finally looking up from his stir fry. He blinked in confusion.

Roman looked thoughtful. “You know, I don’t know. Maybe they though English was more American.”

Virgil snorted.

“I think it’s cool you speak Spanish,” Patton mumbled, going back to poking at his food.

“Thanks, Padre,” Roman said, smiling.

Virgil was trying to figure out what to say next when he saw someone walking up to the table out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look.

“Logan!” Roman cried in delighted surprise. Patton’s head shot up. His mouth fell slightly open.

Logan, who looked perfectly normal, set down a textbook on the table and pulled out the chair next to Virgil. “Greetings,” he said, as if he hadn’t just been gone for two days.

“You! You’re back!” Patton said, stating the obvious. He was sitting up straight, staring at Logan like he couldn’t quite believe he was there.

“I am,” Logan confirmed. “I apologize for my tardiness. One of my professors wanted to discuss my recent absences.”

“I’ll fight them,” Patton promised.

“It was nothing bad,” Logan said. “She just wanted to find a time to schedule a test that I missed.”

Virgil, who had been about to take a bite of his sandwich, paused.

“Wait,” Roman suddenly said, appearing to surprise even himself with the volume of the word. “You missed a test?”

Logan adjusted his glasses. “Yes, well….”

“Are your headaches getting worse?” Patton asked in a small voice.

Logan sighed. “No,” he said. “No, I promise, they’re not. But they’re also….”

“Not getting better?” Virgil finished uncertainly.

Logan nodded once.

“Oh, Logan,” Patton said softly.

“Couldn’t they still get better?” Roman asked. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“They could,” Logan said. “My doctor, however, does not seem overly optimistic. In any case, I have to deal with them now, so the uncertainty of the future is not pertinent to my current situation.”

“Hm,” was Roman’s only reply.

Still, that sucks, Virgil thought. He glanced over at the clock. They were running a little short on time.

“Want half my sandwich?” Virgil offered, waving it temptingly. Logan didn’t have any lunch yet, and the line was rather long. Patton would probably pout if Logan left them again before their free period was over.

“That’s quite alright, Virgil,” Logan said. “I can simply—.” He broke off, apparently catching sight of Patton’s expression. He sighed. “Very well. I shall compensate you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Virgil said. Logan accepted the sandwich.

“So,” he said, inspecting the sandwich like he was looking for the best place to bite. “Have I missed anything while I was gone?”

Roman perked up. “Well, there is this play that I’ve been meaning to tell you guys about….”

...

Tag list: @patton-loves-coloring @starryfirefliesbloggo @purplesoul-at-hogwarts  @gaylotusthatexists @quoth-the-sparrow @awesomelissawho @amuthefunperson @faithfreedom @heck-im-lost @gayfandomsaremything @jemthebookworm @opaque-puppet @bunny222 @syndianites @astraastro @momolinia @captainswan618 @hamilin-manuel-miranda @goldenkiddos @afilhadehades-blog @virgeofselfdestruction @theresneverenoughfandoms @iris-sanders-athena @super-magical-wizard @rainbow-sides @thefallendog @fanficptsd @zodiac-awesome @lookitsthatquietgirl @nerd-in-space @pearls-of-patton @ab-artist @angered-turtle @im-so-infinitesimal @raygelkitty @dr-gloom @whats-going-on-kiddos @the-dumbster @oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall @fillyourteacup @kittiebrick @youtuberswithalex

[justheretobreakthings]

Welcome to the Family - Chapter 2

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Word Count: 2,213 (Total Word Count: 4,189) Read on AO3

Story Summary: Lance had been excited about his family taking in a foster kid, eager to get to meet his brand new little brother or sister, who would surely adore and idolize their super cool Big Brother Lance. What he got instead was a sullen, quiet, temperamental teenage housemate with a criminal record and a disastrous haircut.

“Keith,” Kolivan said without looking up from his phone, “Would you please stop that.”

Keith complied, stilling the leg that he had been bouncing, and which had been bumping the backrest of his chair into the wall for the past two minutes, softly but seeming much louder in the silent vestibule. With other caseworkers in the past, he probably would have met their gaze and kept going, waiting to see their reaction, but his newest caseworker was… intimidating. He hadn’t done anything to Keith, at least not yet - hadn’t raised his voice at him or ever used force to get Keith to follow directions - but his muscular build combined with his permanent resting scowl painted an imposing picture.

He been all business and stoicism ever since Keith was assigned to him, and on the one hand, it was a refreshing change from those workers who cheerily tried to convince him that they were going to basically be his new best friend. On the other, he was impossible to read, so Keith had no idea what the consequences would be for getting on his bad side. He had decided not to risk it.

So he stopped the leg bouncing, settling his feet back onto the floor, and nudging aside the duffel bag - all of his earthly possessions in one single convenient sack - that brushed against his ankle. He switched to a quieter fidget, settling on squeezing his fingertips, the fingers on his left hand wrapping around those on his right one by one. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinky. Back to the thumb. Then switch hands, squeeze the ones on the left.

After a few minutes of this, Kolivan finally lowered his phone and tucked it into his pocket. “She’s on her way,” he grunted toward Keith. Keith nodded silently. “It’s all right if you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Keith said.

“You’re fidgeting.”

Immediately Keith stopped squeezing his fingertips and crossed his arms over his chest instead, scowling over at Kolivan. “Doesn’t mean I’m nervous.”

“All right,” Kolivan said with a shrug. He picked a small stack of folders up off of the end table in between their two seats and dropped them onto his lap, then started flicking through the top one. “I would be nervous,” he said after a bit.

Keith narrowed his eyes at him, tightening his crossed arms further. “Why?” he asked. He tried to shove aside all the thoughts that had immediately spun into his head, all the possibilities for reasons to be nervous about this new family.

“First foster home in over a year,” Kolivan answered simply. “Would make me nervous.”

Keith sighed. Right, of course it would have been something dumb like that. The case workers never told him the real reasons that he should be nervous about the new homes he wound up stuck into. What had he expected Kolivan to say? “I would be nervous to be around a foster dad who knows how to only leave bruises that won’t be seen.” “I would be nervous about a foster mother who gets handsy with anyone in reach after a single drink.” “I would be nervous to have a bedroom with a closet that locks from the outside.”

All warnings that would have been nice to know in the past, but would be too little too late now.

“Well, I’m not nervous,” Keith said. “So, you know - you can drop it.”

“Mm,” Kolivan grunted, his focus completely on the contents of the folder.

Keith leaned back in his seat to steal a glance at the papers. He caught a glimpse of the Arizona state seal and a form number, CSO-1171A. Some sort of legal stuff, then. Most of Kolivan’s job was legal paperwork, and it was all more or less meaningless to Keith, all just legalese that ultimately amounted to: this kid is now your problem, not ours.

He had a few papers of his own stuffed somewhere in the bottom of his bag, the ones he always received before being sent to a new home. A little profile of the home he was being sent to, and only the barest details at that. Names and ages of the household members, the home address, phone numbers. Keith had barely even glanced at the papers when they had been given to him. The foster parents always gave him a little tour on the first day anyway, during that little window right at the beginning when they were still pretending they were happy to have him around.

Keith knew the drill by this point, even if there had been a bit of a gap since his last home.

He chewed his lip as he tapped his toe idly against his duffel. He wondered how much these new foster parents knew about that whole deal. Kolivan probably had had to give them at least some of the details, since they’d no doubt want to know why the past year and a half of Keith’s case history was spent in juvenile detention. The question remained, then, whether or not they gave a damn about his side of the story. They usually didn’t.

Then again, these people had still agreed to foster a kid straight out of juvie, so maybe they were the second-chance-giving sort. Or, of course, the sort who took in “problem kids” knowing that such a label often got social services to turn a blind eye to harsher versions of “discipline.”

In his time in the system, Keith had experienced both, and he really wouldn’t care to have a repeat of the latter.

He was pulled from his thoughts a few minutes later when Kolivan stood up beside him, and he looked up to see that a pale blue hatchback had pulled into the parking lot outside of the transparent front doors, and the driver’s side door was swinging closed as someone climbed out of it. Keith rose to his feet as well, reaching down to grab the strap of his duffel bag before slowly straightening up and slinging it onto his shoulder.

Kolivan led him out the door as the woman approached, and Keith took in as much detail about her as he could. She was short, probably about a head shorter than himself, and somewhat boxy in build, with a very round face and wide, bright eyes. Not exactly intimidating to look at, but that of course didn’t mean that Keith should be letting his guard down just yet.

“Señora McClain?” Kolivan asked, and for a moment Keith felt a hint of panic. He didn’t speak Spanish, at least not beyond the elementary school basics. It was one of those things that he should have learned by now but simply never had the chance. How he would manage to get by in a house where the only things he could communicate were basic greetings, colors, and counting to twenty -

“The one and only,” Señora McClain, with a faint hint of an accent in her warm voice, smiling widely at Kolivan before turning to Keith. “And either you’re Keith, or I know someone who looks very similar to you in photos.” Oh. Okay, so there was no language barrier to worry about. Immediately he mentally scolded himself for panicking. Idiot.

“You can call me Tania,” she continued. “Not saying ‘Mamá’ wouldn’t be ideal, but don’t worry, we’re not forcing anything. It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.” She stretched her arms out, and Keith instantly shrank back, his duffel bag swinging to block his front like a shield. “Not a hugger, that’s fine,” Tania said. “Shake?”

Keith eyed her warily as he took her hand and shook it, watching her face closely. He couldn’t read much; her smile seemed genuine enough, but he’d thought that before when it turned out not to be the case. And - there it was: her gaze slipped for a fraction of a second to his scarred cheek. She didn’t mention it, though, as she released his hand and turned to Kolivan as the latter cleared his throat.

“Going to need your signature on a couple of these before you go,” he said, turning his folder to her with a couple of papers placed on top. “The rest you can keep.”

“Right, sure, got a pen in here somewhere,” Tania said, fishing through her purse. “Sorry Manuel wasn’t able to join us to pick you up, Keith,” she continued as she found the pen and accepted the folder from Kolivan. “He got paged into a work emergency, but he’ll be back this afternoon in time for family dinner tonight. You’ll get to meet Lance and Rachel and, oh, I believe Veronica should be home, I had her promise not to make plans this evening so she could be here for dinner. Specialty of mine, do you like ropa vieja, Keith?”

“Um,” Keith answered. Every one of those names was meaningless to him, and he had no idea what ropa-something was.

“Well, you can try it if you want, and if you don’t like it, we stocked up on plenty of different microwave dinners to substitute. Wasn’t sure what all you like, so if there’s anything you need that we don’t have, we can make a grocery run soon.” She finished with the paperwork and passed the top papers back to Kolivan before tucking the rest under her arm. “There anything else I need to do, are we clear to take Keith home?”

Keith’s grip on the strap of his duffel bag tightened and he set his jaw. He always hated it when his foster families referred to their houses as ‘home’ - they weren’t home, home had burned to ash years ago - but he’d long ago learned to just let it slide. It was just semantics, after all.

“That’s everything,” Kolivan grunted. “I’ll come by next Wednesday to see how Keith’s settling in?”

“That would be fine.”

“And you have my number?” he asked, turning to Keith. Keith nodded. He doubted he would call it - his case workers in the past had usually seemed annoyed at being contacted over anything short of murder-in-progress on the severity scale, which, thankfully, things had never escalated to - but he had it. “Seems we’re all set, then.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Tania said, clasping her hands together. “Keith, will you need any help getting your things to bring to the car?”

“These are my things,” Keith answered, gesturing to the duffel bag.

“Oh - oh, of course!” Her smile may have flickered, but it was back at full steam in a flash. “Shall we head out, then?”

Keith followed her to the car, slinging his bag into the back seat before taking shotgun. Tania turned the car on after she’d climbed in behind the wheel. “You can pick the station if you’d like,” she said, gesturing toward a screen on the dashboard indicating that the radio was currently tuned to some satellite pop station.

“This is fine,” Keith mumbled.

“You know, if you’d like, I can try and schedule a trip out to the outlet mall sometime soon, pick up some new things for you. Just, whatever you need to feel more at home.”

“Mm.”

“Lance is always up for a shopping trip, I’m sure he’d be glad to come along. He’s really been looking forward to meeting you, you know. Everyone has. I’ve got Luis’ room prepared for you - well, it was Luis’ room originally, but Marco moved into it when Luis left for college, and then he moved out too so it became a guest room, but I guess I still think of it as Luis’ room, just out of old habit. Of course, that isn’t to say that you aren’t free to decorate however you’d like - ”

Keith felt himself zoning out, and the rest of the car ride was spent with Tania chattering away about her family and the house and the plans for the week, with Keith remaining quiet except for the occasional grunt to show he was listening. It was a lot of information all at once, and it was difficult to follow. Five kids, three had moved out - no, two had moved out, the two who were in college - or, no, that wasn’t it, one had graduated, one was away at college, one in college but living at home? Or something. And then one of them was going to be in the same grade as him. Luis. Or Lance. One of the L ones. Was Marco her husband or one of the kids? And she mentioned an abuela, but Keith wasn’t sure if she lived at the house or not. It was all starting to get jumbled.

He supposed he would just have to wait until he actually got there to figure out the lay of the land.

And sooner than he had expected, they were pulling up the driveway of a large, craftsman-style house on the far west side of town, that area just on the edge of the city and a couple of streets away from being considered the countryside, and Tania was parking and opening her door. “You ready?” she asked.

Keith gaze up at the house for a few seconds, chewing his lip, before he took a deep breath a opened his own door, cautiously stepping out. “Yeah,” he said. “Ready.”

[sam-i-am-27]

Dive Right In

(Previous) (Next)

My Masterlist of Fics

Ao3 Link

Summary: The four find out more about each other and at the same time, devise a plan to find out more about Virgil’s mother.

Word Count: 1362

@pastel-and-gore. LITERALLY ONE OF THE BEST PEOPLE EVER. They put up editing my writing and I can’t be more grateful to them. Thank you, Jay.

As the slime on Virgil’s tail melted off, Logan scooped some into a small tube but his eyes never left Roman or Patton. His jaw never closed either, partially from shock, partially because he was answering questions as quickly as quickly as Patton was asking them.

“What are legs for?”

“Manuel transportation that can vary to none to-"

“How does a car work?”

“Well, it depends on the car. All have two pedals that make it go and stop, as well as-"

“What exactly is the function of a rubber duck?”

Logan actually chuckled at this one, surprised that Patton would actually ask that out of everything he could ask about the human world.

“Patton, that's enough,” Roman said.

“No, it's fine… Conan, was it?”

“Roman, actually,” he replied formally. “I was named after the city, since my mother's mother originates from there.”

“You know English and know some about the human world,” Logan observed. “How is that?”

“We actually speak whale song, dolphin click, but English, Spanish, and French are our primary languages. You do tend to drop things in our territory quite a lot,” Patton said. “Our ancestors became curious and took up studying what we found. They spent time near the surface studying phonetics.”

“Fascinating,” Logan whispered, his lip curling slightly upward. “You seem very well-versed in your history. Just… Just fascinating…”

“Yes, it is pretty fas-fin-ating, ain't it?” Patton said, making both Virgil and Roman chuckle. The smile forming on Logan’s face fell and he leaned over to Virgil, who was in the process of putting on swim trunks without losing the towel laid across his waist.

“I no longer like this one,” he whispered. Virgil smirked and threw the towel to the side once his shorts were secure.

“So… what are the main things that need to be discussed?” he asked the other three.

“Well obviously how are you even existing if half-mers are illegal,” Logan said.

“Ooh, and what the human world is like!” Roman said.

“Although I would love to tell you more, and learn more about yours, that can wait until later,” Logan said, making both Roman and Patton pout in disappointment.

“Uh… what about: what the hell are we going to do? I'm illegal, you guys talking to us is illegal, and we have no idea of what to do!” Virgil said loudly. Logan put a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, Virgil. We're also figuring this out.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, relaxing until Logan let go.

“We could go to King Thomas and find out what we could do,” Patton suggested. “It really wasn’t any of our faults. It was all coincidental and what interactions occurred were misunderstandings on both parties.”

“That is…” Logan stopped and thought about it, “... actually a very good idea. Your King can't punish Virgil for any laws broken since he did not choose to be born like this and was not born under the king’s laws.”

“And I technically didn't interact with any human on purpose… before now,” Roman said, wincing at the thought of them talking now, with full knowledge of what they were doing. “We can just… leave this part out of the questions.”

“Lying… again?” Patton whined.

“Unless you want to end up in prison,” Roman said.

“Prison is on the line for you?” Logan asked.

“Yeah. Since humans would feign kindness in order to hunt us and use us, they outlawed contact with them,” Roman explained.

“But you guys won't do that, right?” Patton asked.

“I am against all forms of cruelty against any living thing,” Logan said.

“I didn't know mers were more than a myth until I became one, so I don't wanna hurt you guys,” Virgil said. “But we’re all in agreement to lie about this particular meeting?”

Logan and Roman nodded, and after a second of contemplation, so did Patton.

“Now about Virgil's… existence. We do want to find out more?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, I kinda want to know how my mom met my dad and then had me,” Virgil said. “Full mers don't grow tails on-land, and my dad doesn't seem like the type of person to do a fish. Are there like spells or something that could give you guys tails?”

“Maybe… we could ask King Thomas… If someone committed an illegal act, his father would have kept records of it,” Patton asked.

“What about that one Legend, the sea hag… what's the name… Dissolve?” Roman muttered under his breath for a second and then snapped his fingers. “Deceit! That's the name!”

“Sea Hag? Like Ursula?” Virgil asked.

“Who?”

“Never mind… this Deceit, he creates spells and potions that could change a mer into a human or vice-versa?” Logan asked.

“If he exists, then yeah,” Patton confirmed. “You think he could have given his mom a potion?”

“Exactly,” Logan said. “I say we go and ask him if he did and if so, then the mystery is solved. If not, we ask your King. Virgil, any objections?”

Virgil pursed his lips, a thought that had been with him for a bit now. They might not like it, Logan especially, but they were doing this for him and from the sound of it, they would do anything to make sure he found out more about himself and his past.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah… I just… I can't do this without someone I know. Like really know. I wouldn't be able to handle this without an emotional anchor.”

“What do you mean?” Patton asked, but it didn't matter that he didn't understand because Logan was staring at him in shock.

“Logan, I know it's a lot to ask, but without you- If this guy is for real, we could see if he could bring you with us!” Virgil argued. “Please, Lo.”

Logan looked at him and for a second, Virgil thought saw fiery hate in his eyes before it was extinguished by Logan's form of sympathy and love.

“Okay. If he's real, feel free to ask if he can do what you're asking,” Logan said, a hint of worry buried under a mountain of indifference.

Virgil didn't say anything, just smiled at him.

“Aw, that's so sweet!” Patton said. “I still don't get it.”

“He's going to go down with us if Deceit can make us a potion to turn Logan into a mer,” Roman explained.

“Still so sweet!” Patton said, but a bit of the joy had been replaced with the same worry that Logan had let slip.

“So, Virgil, you're joining me in this quest to find the sea monster? I hear that he dwells deep within what you humans refer to as the Bermuda Triangle, near the northern tip,” Roman said in a very ominous voice.

“If you're trying to spook me, it's not working,” Virgil lied, scooting into the water and waiting for his tail to form. “How do we get to the Bermuda Triangle from here?”

“Ooh, you get to learn speeding!” Patton said, his tail flapping excitedly. “Roman is the best teacher! He taught me!”

“We’ll get out of the cove before we start that lesson,” Roman said, brushing Virgil’s ripped swim trunks away from him and out of the water. Virgil nodded and looked at Logan. Virgil locked eyes with his friend, silently confirming that he was okay with this. Logan nodded nodded without hesitation before Roman dragged Virgil under the water.

Deceit watched as the halfling and the red mer slipped away from the human and blue mer. A smile spread across his lips and he brushed the orb. The red mer talked to the halfling, showing him the proper techniques for speeding. The halfling scowled at something the mer said but positioned his body and in half-a-second, the view of the orb was blurred with bubbles. When the finally cleared, the red mer was laughing uncontrollably as the halfling caught his breath, his eyes surprised and gills flaring. The two calmed down for a few minutes before they started speeding towards his cave. 

A thought of the future crossed his mind and he floated away from the orb, rubbing his temples.

“Don’t get too cocky now… Stay on-task…”

A/N: And so the plot thickens.

 Okay, what do you guys think? If Virgil is a goby, Roman is an angelfish, Patton is a blue tang, what is Deceit and what will Logan become?

Logan

a) puffer fish

b) stone fish

c) hogfish 

d) eel

Deceit

a) eel

b) sea snake

c) angler fish

d) cuttlefish

LEAVE YOUR GUESS DOWN BELOW!

Reblogs are appreciated. Taglist is always open. 

Thanks as always to @pastel-and-gore for editing this!

Have a great day!

Taglist: @octopushugs @ryuity @fandergecko @rileyfirstname @spectacled-renegade @ijustreallylovesanderssides @beneath-the-ash @thesynysterunknown @nightmarejasmine @i-like-cookiez @savemefrompainfulagony @randomfanderfriend @kingbumbles @spaceacesam @anxietywolf @enderperson43  @justanotherpurplebutterfly @masonjarfullofsunflowers @sassyshoulderangel319 @abigail-kaulitz @not-very-interactive-introvert @why-should-i-tell-youu​ @redqueen29 @punsterterry @yangsembercelica @horriblyokay @cakercanart @derp-a-la-sheep

@ fireflies-and-pattonseyes, teaspoonfulofpatton, collie7700 you three are on my taglist but for some reason, tumblr isn’t showing your accounts when I do the @ thing. 

[hamilficsfordays]

New Beginning—Chapter Eight: Tragedy-Prone

Disclaimer: I don’t actually speak spanish so I apologize if any translations are incorrect

Also posted on Ao3

Summary:  Autumn in New York has arrived and school has started for everyone including Alexa. Unfortunately, that’s not the only thing that has started.

Rating: M for language (in English and Spanish), teen binge drinking, mentions of rape

Words: 7828 (rip me)

Askbox / Masterlist / Chapter Seven / Chapter Nine

Tags:

@promisesandmore @justanotherfanficreader and @huffleheyguys who asked me to tag them in literally any writing.

September in New York meant the start of school. The slight excitement Alexa had was shadowed by the overwhelming fear of seeing the boys who violated her that night again. Still, she pushed on.

“There’s no shame in being homeschooled until we can transfer you to Brearley next semester.” Lin offered that morning while en route to the school.

“I’m not going to rot in that apartment for the next four months, Lin. I need to do this.”

She had on a plaid green skirt, a white polo, black stockings, and a long sleeve green cardigan. This was within the required uniform standards Alexa carefully adjusted the sleeves of her cardigan to make sure they were covering the bandages on her arms while staring up at Lin from the chair on the subway. The train was packed, full of others headed to work or school that morning.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, glancing down at her, attempting to read her face. She rolled her eyes, a light smile.

“Remember what Dr. Montgomery said?” she reminded him of the doctor’s appointment they’d been to the day before.

“As long as you take your meds as needed, you’ll be fine.” he repeated.

Alexa carefully pulled a full pill bottle of Zoloft out of her messenger bag, She took one pill and washed it down with a sip of water from a plastic bottle that she’d been holding on to. “I took my meds today, okay? So stop panicking. You’re more worried than I am.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Would you like one?” she offered, smirking.

“Very funny.” he glanced out the train window in search of a number as the train slowed to a halt.

“This is our stop.”

-

They arrived at the school shortly after.

“Okay, I gave you a free ‘worried parent’ pass to travel with me to school this morning. Your pass has now expired.” She gave him a light pat on his arm. “You no longer have permission to escort me to school.”

“Do I have a hug pass?”

“Those can only be redeemed at home or not ten feet from my school.”

Lin hugs her anyway, kissing the top of her head.

“Why do I make rules if you’re just going to break them?” she demanded, feeling him laugh against her.

The laughing stopped however as he saw Eric approach the school after exiting his town car. There was a smaller more sheepish boy by his side, looking slightly on edge, though Eric being beside him seemed to ease his tension slightly.

Alexa caught a glimpse of what had made Lin so serious, feeling a wave of fear wash over her as he looked their way.

He approached them then, the smaller boy beside him.

“You really shouldn’t be over here,” Lin started, stepping in front of his daughter. “It’s dangerous. I wouldn’t want something to happen to you.”

“Lin,” she stepped in between them, facing her father. “You can’t threaten someone my age. No matter how much they genuinely deserve it.”

“Ease off, George Lopez,” Eric started. “I’m here to apologize.”

They both stared straight at him, taken aback by his words. Frustrated, he glared at the younger boy beside him who nudged him forward, urging him to continue.

“Sorry for…” he sighed, glancing in another direction. “Hurting you a month ago. I was a jerk and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Hurting me?” she shot back. “That’s the best you can do?”

Alexa glanced at the boy beside him, who seemed to be curiously fixated on Lin.

“Is that your conscious?” she asked, directing to the younger boy. “He’s not large enough for you to compensate.”

Eric was enraged then, stepping close to her and leaning in.

“Don’t talk about my little brother, okay? I apologized, so get off my back.”

“Did you apologize? Is that what they call an apology where you’re from?”

“Oh my god, you’re Lin-Manuel Miranda!” Grabbing everyone’s attention beside Eric was the smaller boy, pushing past the two teens to stand directly in front of the older man.

“I listen to In the Heights like, religiously. I mean I did, before Hamilton came out. Now I listen to that religiously. I’m Daxton,” he took Lin’s hand, shaking it furiously. It’s an honor to meet you!”

“Th-thank you?” Lin politely smiled back.

“What the fuck is In The Heights?” Alexa demanded, receiving a confused look from both Lin and Daxton.

“Only his first musical and winner of Tony award for best musical of 2008! I was friends with this boy at my old school who was like—well he was Spanish—and we would always spend weekends at his place where he would try to rap all of Usnavi’s lines. It was amazing. You’re amazing.”

“You have another musical?” she asked, prompting another confused look from Lin.

Alexa glanced at Daxton, at Eric, and then back to Daxton.

“Oh my god.” she finally said. “Your brother came out and you gained a conscious.”

“Shut up.” Eric shot back.

“Eric and I have been trying to get tickets for Hamilton since it started at the Public. Right Eric?” he nudged his older brother eagerly.

“Dax really likes the show—” he tried.

“Me?! You sing Yorktown in the shower like every night!”

“Oh my god.” Alexa stifled her laughter, Lin doing the same.

He kissed the top of Alexa’s head again. “Have a good day.”

“You’re gonna have to be more genuine if you want to see that show, Eric.” Daxton folded his arms, glaring knowingly at his brother.

“Okay well… We should go.” Eric lead his brother away, glaring at Alexa who only smirked back.

This would serve as the highlight of her morning, a morning otherwise full of being called a slut or being told that she deserved it while walking in the hallways.

“Hey, how much for a lap dance?” Across the hallway from her locker, someone tossed a wad of dollar bills at her to a chorus of laughter.

And to think Lin and V are paying $47,000 a year so that I can get treated like this she thought, closing her locker and kicking the wad aside as she headed to her first class.

The class was small, quiet when she walked in. She recognized no faces, a relieving fact.

It was AP US History, a class she was destined to fly through—at least partially.

“Sorry, I’m late!” A small, blonde, white woman who could’ve easily passed for a student rushed in, papers in one hand and coffee in the other. “Mama needed a little pick me up before class started.” She shook her paper coffee cup.

There were a few chuckles, though most of the students didn’t find it amusing.

“Okay well, welcome to AP US History. I’m Dr. Rhodes, but you can call me Annie, and this year we’ll be learning how our country came to be. Included in that learning will be a single chapter on Civil Rights that’s only short because this book was written by a bunch of white people.” she laughed, prompting no reaction from her students but a small smile from Alexa, the only non-white person in the room.

“Let’s start with attendance.” she pulled out a single paper from the stack in her hand, listing off each name one by one until she got to Alexa.

“Alexa Jordan?” she asked. Alexa raised her hand.

“The same Alexa Jordan who’s the daughter of that handsome gentleman who wrote Hamilton?”

“Uh… Yeah?” she laughed, feeling the other students’ eyes on her. “I guess?”

“You know I was a TA when I was getting my masters at Yale… They’ve got a lot of love for Hamilton over there. Several of his original documents stored away. I think you and your mancandy father would have a lot of interest in that.”

There was an awkward silence.

“In fact, let’s all go! Road trip!”

More silence.

“No? No Hamilton fans here? You guys are missing out. That show is AMAZING—”

“Okay, can we actually talk about something important?” A girl in the back interrupted.

“Well excuse me,” Dr. Rhodes glanced at the attendance list again to find the girl’s name. “Hazel! I hate to admit it but you’re right. Let’s get started with the rape, pillage, and murder of hundreds of thousands of Native Americans when the white man first arrived here by ship.”

At the end of APUSH, she headed to her locker only discover an array of papers taped to the front.

“Oh great, another smear campaign.” She thought, starting to tear them off. A quick glance at one, however, changed her perspective.

Sign up for the Drama Club! This year, with special permission We’ll be producing a production of Hamilton: An American Musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda

She glanced at each of the posters, all of them identical. A safe way to pander she figured. With no friends and virtually no one to talk to, she essentially had nothing to lose. She’d made a mental note to head to the school theatre at the end of the day.

She caught a glimpse of Eric headed down the hallway toward her that made her shiver involuntarily. He made a passing comment at another girl that Alexa couldn’t hear. Her retaliation, however, was loud and clear.

“¡No me jodas, Westly!” she shouted, loud enough for everyone in the hallway to hear. “At least I don’t have to drug people to get them to have sex with me. ¡Chinga tu madre!”

“Like anyone would ever want to sleep with you. Don’t you have houses to clean?” he shot back, rolling his eyes. He didn’t stop to converse but continued walking down the hall. “That’s right pinche puta, keep walking!”

When he approached Alexa, she froze. Though she had stood up to him that morning, the harsh fear that came up whenever he approached didn’t seem to go away. Without Lin, she was alone.

The last time she was alone with him, it didn’t end well.

“Oh hey, looks who’s all alone with no daddy to defend them.”

He grabbed her arm forcefully, holding tight despite her attempts to pull away.

He leaned in close, paralyzing her with fear.

“Can I get you anything?” he whispered, recalling what he had said to her that night. “A drink? Maybe something a little more exciting?”

His grip on her arm tightened. She was struggling to manage a response as she continued to attempt to free herself.

“What do you feel like swallowing?” he recited.

There was a sudden jolt as the other girl shoved Eric away from her.

“You wanna fight someone?” she shoved him toward the lockers. He was clearly intimidated though he tried to hide it. Despite him being a few inches taller, the girl overpowered him in overall strength.

“Fight me, bitch!” she continued. “My father is a professional wrestler! I dare you to come at me. ¡Besa mi culo, puto!”

She had him wedged between herself and the lockers. Seeing him clearly shaken up was enough to get Alexa to take a sigh of relief. She moved away from the scene until her back hit the lockers on the other side of the hallway. When there was nowhere else to go, she slid down to the floor, watching the scene unfold.

“Whatever,” he tried to brush it off. “I don’t need to fight you. It would be a waste of my time.” he managed to fight his way out of the small space and fast-walk down the hallway.

“This isn’t over, Pendejo!”

She barely noticed the girl offering to help her up as she sat on the ground, processing what had just happened.

“Cabron,” the girl remarked, watching Eric walk off as she offered Alexa a hand. She took it, slowly pulling herself up.

The girl was Latina (unlike every other student besides Lex it seemed), unmistakably tall and rather muscular, but ever confident with herself.

“Thank you,” she finally said, brushing her skirt off. “He’s um… he’s kind of intimidating.”

“Ay, no, You wouldn’t say that if you saw the way he cried like un bebé when he was being pulled away in a cop car from that party last month.” she chuckled.

Alexa’s eyes lit up at the thought. “Wait, you were there?”

“No, but it was on New York One the next morning.” she chuckled at the memory. “Lo que es un bastardo.”

The shorter teen almost felt kind of stupid for being so afraid of him. The other girl picked up on that.

“Amiga, I’m sure he really fucked you up. He’s a pendejo and you’re allowed to handle that however you do. Just don’t let him steal your light. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.”

A small smile formed on Alexa’s face. “That was really profound.”

She shrugged. “Si, I know, I’m like a fucking latina Shakespeare.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

Lex suddenly realized she may have been coming on too strong and felt the need to explain herself.

“I mean since you’re the only person at this school who hasn’t called me a slut so far and we hate the same person so I figured—”

“Camila.” she cut her off. “Call me Cami.”

“Cami,” Alexa repeated. “Okay.”

“Relax amiga, if you hang around me, everyone will be way too afraid to call you a puta.”

That afternoon, Alexa ventured to the basement where the theatre was located. As she opened the door to the house, she was overwhelmed by the large population of fair skinned students. As she herself was half black, she stuck out like a sore thumb as she had all day that day.

There were several glances in her direction as she entered to room, most of them other girls staring curiously. She sat in the last row, hoping to remain out of sight.

As she sat, she bumped into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” she quickly apologized, glancing up at the stranger.

The cute stranger. The stranger whom she happened to recognize from her AP US History class that morning.

He had short brown hair, a clean-shaven, cute face and wasn’t particularly thin or muscular, a fair mix of both. At least, that’s what she could gather from under white dress shirt and tie.

He seemed to be fixated on her features as well—her light brown eyes, her curly jet black hair, her smile which was in full force.

“It’s okay.” he finally said, a smile forming. “I’m sure you’ve been getting much worse treatment all day.”

“You don’t even know.”

He offered his hand. “I’m Dan.”

“Alexa.”

“Alexa,” he paused, taking in her features once again. “I know I literally just met you, but is there any chance you would want to grab coffee after this? I know a place around the block.”

“Uh…” she paused, glancing around at the other students. “Just us?”

“Well… Yeah.”

She glanced down at her phone briefly, taking note of the time. She had promised Lin that she’d be home by 3, and it was already 2:45.

“Sure.”

Are you home yet, mija?

As Alexa moved above ground after the meeting had ended, she received a very telling text message from her father.

Hanging out with a friend. I’ll be home for dinner.

As soon as the message had sent she turned her phone on do not disturb, wanting to give Dan her full attention.

She did just that as they sat at the cafe around the corner.

“So where are you from?” he asked, once they had ordered.

“I was born in Florida, but I mostly grew up in rural Alabama.”

“Y—” he glanced at her briefly, waiting for the punchline of a joke. “Really?”

She nodded. “Exciting, I know. The south is already bad enough if you’re black let alone adopted, but I moved around a lot ended up in New York over the summer.”

“Oh, like, in foster homes?” he asked. “I’m sorry if that’s weird to ask—”

“I’m not ashamed of my past.” she crossed her legs under the table, her ballet flat grazing his leg. “Just grateful that my current foster parents stepped in when they did.”

“Right, yeah.” he smiled.

A waitress stopped at their table, setting their cups of coffee in front of them.

“My story isn’t nearly as interesting.” he started, taking a sip of his own. Just grew up in Williamsburg. Still in Williamsburg.”

“Oh, Williamsburg! That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to go there. I heard it’s supposed to have like… The best coffee in the world.”

“It definitely beats out this Manhattan crap.” he quipped, receiving a steady laugh in response.

“My mom mostly works mostly across the country as a producer and my dad’s a musician.” Dan continued. “He’s on tour pretty often, so he’s out a lot too. It’s just me and my fourteen-year-old sister Rebecka.”

“On tour, huh? Anyone I’ve heard of?” she added a touch of sugar to her coffee, using a spoon to stir it in.

“I don’t usually like to talk about it…” he started, blushing.

“It can’t be worse than being related to the guy who wrote Hamilton.” she pointed out with a smile.

“It’s uh… it’s George Abrams.”

Alexa nearly dropped the cup that she was carefully holding in both hands. “Your dad is George Abrams? He’s like a 90’s rock legend.”

Dan shrugged, still blushing. “He’s just my dad.”

“Right,” she nodded slowly. “No, that’s cool. I mean I can’t even begin to relate your experience to mine. You were kind of born with a famous parent. I obviously didn’t have the same experience.”

“You get used to it after a while. Although I will admit, some of the stuff that he has collected from his world tours over the years is insane. You should come by and see it one time.”

“That would be awesome.” Her hand instinctively reached for her curls, a move that typically only occurred when she was flirting.

Am I flirting? she asked herself, glancing carefully across the table at Dan. He was all smiles, his eyes fixated on her.

I guess it can’t hurt she concluded, placing her other hand flat on the table in hopes that he would take the bait. He did, reaching his own hand out to graze hers.

A shrill ringing sound emerged from her messenger bag and interrupted them.

“Sorry,” she pulled away, frustrated, digging for her phone.

It was Vanessa calling.

“What?” She demanded, obviously upset.

“I need you to pick up Sebastian from daycare.” Vanessa started, disregarding Alexa’s irate tone of voice.

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“Lex, I’m serious. I need your help here.” her mother insisted. “It would mean a lot if you could do this.”

“I just told you I’m in the middle of something! Have Lin do it.”

“He went to the theatre early. You told me you wanted to start relating to me more—this is a great way to start.”

Alexa rolled her eyes as she hung up, tossing her phone back into her bag.

“Is everything okay?” Dan asked, watching her put her things together.

“Not really… I have to go.”

“Oh,”

“Yeah, my foster dad and I are really close. With my foster mom, however… it’s a work in progress. I need to go pick up their son. I’m really sorry.” She pulled out her wallet, tossing a ten dollar bill on the table.

“It’s okay, I’ll just see you at school tomorrow.” he stood up.

“Yeah, of course.” She hugged him, kissing his cheek as she pulled back. “See you tomorrow!”

-

The next morning was an uncomfortable one. Alexa awoke nauseated, bloated, and triggered by the smell of breakfast cooking.

As she left her room that morning dressed for school and headed to the kitchen, an all too peppy Lin greeted her, singing at the top of his lungs.

“Goooooood mooooorrrrrniiiing, Gen! Happy second day of schooooooool!”

“Dude,” she groaned, setting her bag down on the table as she sat. “Please.”

“Wouuuuuld you like some breeeeaaakfast?” he offered, directing to the pan he was busy cooking with.

Alexa dry heaved, disgusted at the sight of bacon frying in the pan.

“I’ll pass, thanks.” “It’s the most important meal of the day!” he reminded her, holding up a piece of bacon with the pair of tongs in his hand.

“Seriously, I’m fine. That smells disgusting. My digestive system has been terrible lately.”

“Oh speaking of,” he paused, placing the bacon onto a plate nearby and turning the stove off. “Have you done your treatment since you got out of state care?”

Alexa groaned. “I did it just before I left.”

“That was almost two weeks ago.” he pointed out. “You’re supposed to do it twice a week.”

“I’ve been… busy.” she insisted. “Readjusting to life back at home and starting school… my immunodeficiency hasn’t been a priority.”

“It has to be. No wonder your stomach is so messed up.”

“My stomach is always messed up.” she pointed out.

“You know what I meant.” he paused, placing the bacon onto a plate nearby and turning the stove off.

“If you’re done lecturing me on my health, can I go to school now?”

“I’m not done,” he took a piece of bacon from the plate, taking a bite and offering some to her. She quickly refused. “It’s unrelated but important. Vanessa told me about yesterday—”

“You mean how she insisted that my go pick Sebastian was somehow going to improve our relationship?”

“Not the words I would’ve used, but yes.”

“I was busy. I was having coffee with a new friend and she kind of ruined it.”

“Lex, V is doing her best to relate to you, but it can be tough sometimes. You and I had plenty of time to get to know each other over the summer at the Public. Give her a chance to do the same. She’s a great mother.”

She shook her head. “I don’t do well with mom’s.”

“Did something happen in the past?” he curiously pressed.

“Nothing that I’m willing to discuss over bacon.”

“Vanessa’s nothing like that.” he insisted. “She’s the kindest, most genuine person I’ve met. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Alexa rolled her eyes.

“You gave me a chance and you said you’d be willing to do the same for her.”

“Maybe I’m not there yet.”

“You guys could bond over something you have in common.”

“Yeah, you always know how I talk about wanting to be an engineer.” she rolled her eyes again, the sarcasm thick.

“Hey, you and V both love frozen yogurt… maybe you could go get some together.”

She dry heaved again. “Could we not talk about food right now?”

Before he could respond, she rushed off to the bathroom.

Hunched over the toilet, she vomited once, followed by several dry heaves.

As she stood up, preparing to re-brush her teeth, she saw Lin standing in the doorway in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a concerned look on his face.

“Never better.” she quipped, reaching for her toothbrush. “I think I’m gonna skip breakfast.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to school today.” he suggested.”

“Lin, she started. “I’ve gone to school in much worse condition. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” He walked back down the hallway towards the kitchen. “But if you want to go home, just give me a call! And remember what I said about Vanessa!”

-

The train ride to school that morning was almost unbearable. Partially because of nausea, but also because certain muscles in her body had become overwhelmingly tender. Her messenger bag sat uncomfortably on her shoulder, heavily irritating her chest. By the time she had reached her destination, her symptoms had not improved. She slowly trudged to her locker only to find Dan waiting there to greet her.

“Hey,” he smiled before getting a closer look at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I thi—” her sentence was cut short by the feeling of bile rising in the back of her throat. She rushed to the bathroom across the hall, locking herself in the handicapped stall before releasing the containments of her stomach—which wasn’t much—into the toilet. She hunched over, feeling the cramps in her torso worsen as her stomach contracted.

When it was over, she was on her knees, her hair carefully hung on the outside of the seat.

She sighed, standing up and moving towards the sink to wash her face.

When Dan saw her exit the bathroom, he offered his only unopened bottle of water. She graciously accepted.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“I’m pretty sure like ninety percent of what just came out of me was stomach acid, but yeah I’m fine.”

“Good.” he pulled a ten dollar bill from his pocket, the same one that Alexa had left on the table the day before. “Hamilton’s glad to hear that.” He handed the bill to her.

“What is this?”

“You dropped it yesterday.” he reminded her.

“Yeah… to pay for my coffee.”

“I took care of it. Here, you can keep it.”

“Dan…” She attempted to hand the bill back. “It’s fine. I can pay for my own coffee.”

“I know, but I took care of it.” He thought back to her rush to the bathroom earlier, eager to change the subject. “You should probably eat something before class. At least it’ll keep the stomach acid down.”

“Come with me?” she asked. Dan nodded and they made their way to the dining hall. Inside was an array of breakfast options that were certainly worthy of a hefty tuition. With it came an overwhelming aroma that made Alexa dry heave as soon as she stepped in the room. She stepped back out to avoid worsening the feeling.

“I think I’m just gonna go to class,” she suggested. “I’ll see you around.”

At noon, the cramps had seceded while the other symptoms worsened. While the other students entered the cafeteria for lunch, Alexa stood outside.

The smell was unbearable. She had no desire to get sick for a third time that day and gave in, headed to the nurse’s office.

She’d listed off her symptoms, the bloating, nausea and vomiting, the fatigue, the cramps, and the muscle tenderness. The nurse, a middle-aged white woman who managed to look consistently bitter, visibly rolled her eyes in response.

“Are you sexually active?” she asked, reaching into her desk.

“No.”

The nurse glanced up at her. “Miss, I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.”

“I’m not,” she shot back. Being a virgin wasn’t exactly something she wanted to brag about, but it was true.

The nurse pulled a small cardboard box out of her desk, handing it to the teen.

“Go to the restroom, follow the instructions on the box, and bring it back when you’re done.”

The box clearly read Pregnancy Test across the front, which made it clear to Alexa that the nurse didn’t believe her.

“Whatever.” She scoffed, bringing the test with her.

In the tiny bathroom stall, she removed the test from its packaging and stared back it. It was taunting her with its simplicity.

She removed the cap on the far end, carefully sliding it between her legs and using it as instructed. The results were still pending as she capped the test and walked back to the nurse’s office.

A change on the display alerted them to the results, a plus sign.

“You’re pregnant.” the nurse announced unenthusiastically.

“This is a joke.” Alexa rolled her eyes back. “You clearly don’t know what you’re doing. I told you I’ve never had sex. That test is probably defective. It looks older than you.”

“I can’t say we’ve had a pregnant girl at Columbia Prep before, but I suppose there’s a first for everything. Especially considering your…” she paused. “Situation.”

“What situation?” Alexa demanded, glaring at the nurse. “That I’m black, that I was adopted two months ago, that I live in the heights or that my parents are Latinx and therefore unfit?”

The nurse ignored the question, unwilling to put her job at risk. “If you’re still feeling sick, I can call your parents and have one of them come get you. Just move to the cot over there.”

“Racist.” she muttered under her breath, angrily grabbing her bag as she made her way to the cot on the far end of the room.

-

“Okay let’s skip ahead to light cue 145, sound cue 11, and stage cue 78.”

At the Richard Rodgers theatre, the cast and crew were changing up some of the show’s lighting cues a few hours before the afternoon matinee at 2 pm. The stage manager was hard at work, directing everyone through the motions so that they could enter the correct cues into their system.

The actors were still, silent onstage waiting for direction while the lighting technicians were quietly discussing the correct cues upstairs. In the midst of a silence, there was a loud ringing noise, someone’s cell phone.

Tommy Kail, working alongside the show’s stage manager, glanced up at the stage for the source of the sound. “Who didn’t turn their phone off?”

All of the actors onstage glanced at one another briefly. Once Lin realized it was his phone, he blushed.

“Oh shit, my bad!” he pulled his phone out. “That was me.”

Hesitating for a moment, he glanced at the call not recognizing the strange number and picked it up. “Hello?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Take five, everyone. Lin has a very important phone call to take.”

Everyone else left their positions.

“Sorry, who am I speaking with?”

The voice of an older white woman greeted him, making it clear that she was unsure of how to properly pronounce his name and wasn’t going to bother to try.

“This is Lin-Manuel Miranda, who is this?”

“I’m the nurse at Columbia Prep. Your daughter Alexa is in the infirmary with me and she needs to be picked up. She’s been vomiting all day and—”

The nurse paused. While it may have been practical to inform him of the pregnancy test, she wasn’t sure it was her place to do so. From the other side of the room, Alexa sat up from her curled fetal position. She waited, holding her breath, to see if the nurse would say anything.

“Well, she’s not feeling well.”

“Is she okay?” he demanded, the concern in his voice catching the attention of those in the theatre. “Did anyone get hurt?”

“No sir, not mentally. She’s just physically ill.”

“Oh,” he took a sigh of relief that he wasn’t proud of. The fact that he was so sure she’d had a mental breakdown that involved another student getting hurt was nothing if not slightly unsettling. He was grateful that wasn’t the case. “So she’s with you?”

“Can I talk to him?” Alexa demanded, interrupting their conversation.

“She wants to talk to you.” the nurse announced as Alexa slowly walked back toward the desk.

“Hey, Lin.”

“Hey kiddo, still not feeling well?”

“I must have a 24-hour virus or something. My hormones are off.” she glared at the nurse. “I think I should sleep it off.“

“I’ll come and get you.” he offered, already headed to his dressing room to pick up his things.

“What? No, you’re at work. I’ll just sleep in the nurse’s office until school ends. You shouldn’t leave, it’s too important.”

“Too late, I’m already leaving.” He threw everything he needed into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder and heading toward the exit. “Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”

There was a number of questioning looks he received on his way out.

“Lex is sick.” he explained to the stage manager, who seemed suddenly concerned.

“Oh, is she…” he paused, pretending to scratch his arms.

“Oh, no.” he was quick to reassure them that this wasn’t a mental breakdown similar to the one she’d had a little over a week beforehand. “She’s just been throwing up all day. I’m gonna go get her. Put Javi in for the rest of the run through. I should be back for the matinee.”

Lin opted for a cab uptown, arriving promptly and heading to the infirmary to find his daughter curled up on a cot at the far end of the room.

When she heard him come in, a look of concern crossed her face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you I was coming.”

Alexa glanced at the nurse, who seemed confused at their exchange. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t coming because work is more important?”

“We never agreed on that because it isn’t true,” he whispered back. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“But…” she seemed desperate for answers. “Work is always more important.”

It was clear that something had triggered her, though Lin wasn’t sure what it was.

“Little girls who stay home from school get punished.” the thought passed through her consciousness as if she’d heard it yesterday, though she hadn’t heard the phrase in years.

Suddenly she backed away from him, up against the wall.

“I’m fine. I’m not sick. I’ll go to class. I’m sorry for making you come all the way over—”

“Hey,” he sat beside her on the cot, trying to interrupt her thoughts for a moment. “You didn’t make me come here. I wanted to come, okay? I’ll take you home and you can sleep it off.”

As expected, her medication helped her calm down a lot faster than she would typically be able to on her own. She paused for a moment.

“I promise, nothing bad will happen to you,” he reassured her. “We’ll go home, you can get some sleep and hopefully you’ll start to feel better.”

“You promise?” she pressed, still hesitant.

“I promise.”

She grabbed his hand for support, following him out of the infirmary and to the cab waiting outside.

“Just hang out here. I’ll make you some tea.” As they got home a few minutes later, Lin helped her over to the couch, putting a blanket over the length of her body before moving away to the kitchen. She had calmed down significantly on the car ride home, taking long calming breaths to ease her anxiety.

“So did the nurse say exactly what was wrong with you?” he questioned from the kitchen.

“Uh,” Alexa paused. While she was certain she wasn’t pregnant, having never had sex, she wasn’t too open to the idea of sharing everything that happened with him. “Nothing useful.” she finally said. “Just offered to call you.”

“You’re right, that isn’t very useful.” He placed the full kettle on the stove, before turning on the burner and returning to the couch to sit beside her. “Maybe we should take you back to the doctor.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “Hopefully they’re better at their job than that shitty nurse is.”

“Are you hungry? Did you eat at school?”

She shook her head before placing a pillow underneath it to protect her neck. “The smell of everything made me want to vomit.”

“Hold on,” he stood up, headed back to the kitchen. “I think Vanessa bought saltine crackers last week.”

Digging through the pantry, he found a small box of saltines in the back with the package half empty. He grabbed the whole thing, handing it to her.

“That’s all we have, but I’ll go pick up some more—”

Alexa made a noise of protest, turning onto her stomach. “You should go back to work. That’s more important.”

The kettle began to whistle, calling Lin to attention before he could respond.

“Lex, do you want anything in your tea?”

“A spoonful of honey please.”

“Got it.” He prepared it as requested before carefully handing it to her.

She sat up and took a sip, sighing, content.

“This helps a lot.”

“I’m glad.” he kissed her forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pick up more saltines?”

“Go back to work. I’ll be fine here.”

“Okay… but call me if you need anything.”

“Phone’s on,” she assured him. “I’m probably just gonna take a nap. I’m exhausted.”

“Alright well… V’s going to some work event later and I’ll be on tonight, so we’ll probably both be back around midnight. Unless you need me to come back—”

“Oh my god, Lin, go back to rehearsal.”

Lin smirked, picking up his bag and heading out of the apartment.

-

On her own, the silence was deafening. She could feel the fatigue overwhelming her, but sleep was far off. On paper, she had almost every symptom of early pregnancy. She never really had consistent periods, didn’t she need that to get pregnant?

No. No way. She couldn’t be pregnant because she was a virgin. Virgins didn’t get pregnant. Well, except for that one tv show, but that was fake and didn’t count.

The test I took must’ve been defective she assured herself. If I took another test, there’s no way it would come up positive.

That reassurance, however, did not help her get to sleep any faster.

She threw the blanket off.

“Fucking fine.” she groaned and took a large swig of tea from the mug before picking up her messenger bag and heading out.

The nearest pharmacy was five blocks away, a small business on the corner. She headed in, gravitating toward the refrigerated aisle. She grabbed a large can of Arizona tea—only a dollar, respectively—and left in search of her other purchase.

There they were, at eye level between the tampons and the condoms—pregnancy tests. She examined them carefully, reading each label and what special feature they boasted.

She could feel her heart pounding, her palms sweaty.

This is ridiculous she thought to herself. I’m not pregnant.

One box, in particular, caught her eye, a test boasting its ability to show how far along you were. It came in a pack of two, which she grabbed and headed to the register.

Behind the counter, the foreign older gentleman glared at her as she approached with her items.

“You’re too young to buy this.” His thick accent intruded her overwhelming thoughts.

“There’s no age limit on buying pregnancy tests.” she shot back.

“A young body like yours is too valuable to carry a child.” he insisted. “You could do much better with it elsewhere.”

“Do you want my money or not you fucking pervert?” A wad of cash in hand, Alexa glared at the man behind the counter as he placed her items in a small black plastic bag.

“Twenty-four fifty,” he announced, taking the twenty-five dollars she handed him. He passed two quarters back, watching her carefully as she left the store.

Before heading down the street, she pulled her phone out of the pocket of her skirt—her uniform still on from her time at school—opening Spotify. A quick typed search for In the Heights brought up the album of Lin’s first broadway show, a production she’d virtually never heard of. Cautiously, she tapped the first song, placed her headphones over her ears, and took the slow route home, open Arizona can in hand.

The song was still playing as she got home, tossing the now empty can in the trash. She made her way to the bathroom, the box burning a hole into her palm

She tossed the instructions aside for later, sitting on the toilet seat and carefully positioning the test between her legs.

Once it was over, she recapped the test placing it flat on the counter. It was a three-minute wait.

I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant. I command myself not to be pregnant.

The test flashed a result on its screen, a tiny display that read

Pregnant

2+

Alexa dropped the test, her heart pounding. This couldn’t be real. It had to be some kind of dream.

She grabbed the instructions, skimming them again, desperately seeking answers.

Under her result read a paragraph about conception, how the result had concluded that she conceived three or more weeks prior.

“What the fuck,” she managed, trying not to hyperventilate. She pulled her phone out, stopping the music and pulling up her calendar in the hope that a date would jog her memory of something. Perhaps an artificial insemination that she’d agreed to in an exhausted state—being a surrogate mother was a well-paying gig nowadays.

She scrolled back to two weeks prior. Nothing. Three weeks. Nothing.

“This makes no sense,” she said aloud. “There is no way I could possibly be pregnant. I’ve never had se—.”

There it was, a Thursday four weeks back. There was an event marked on her calendar entitled:

Party tonight at CP!

Memories flashed through her mind of the following day, where she was offered a Plan B pill at the hospital, took it, left to shower, and promptly got sick only minutes later giving it virtually no chance to enter her system.

She could feel the breath leave her lungs all at once, her mind going numb.

She had never considered this.

It wasn’t something one considered after having been through what she had.

She dropped her phone—or rather, it fell out of her hands—landing on the tiled bathroom floor. She put the test into the garbage can, covering it with the other items to keep it out of sight.

Her instincts brought her to the kitchen, where she easily bypassed the child lock on the liquor cabinet. She pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey, an unopened bottle of vodka, and dug through the freezer for a tequila bottle stashed away.

The three bottles in front of her on the counter, she debated which one would be the easiest to chug. She opted for the vodka, popping the cap and downing the bitter liquid. She hesitated for a moment, the burn in the back of her throat causing her to cough, but continued anyway. It would be unpleasant, sure, but it was the easiest thing she could think of to get rid of the thing that was supposedly growing inside of her. Within minutes, the bottle was empty.

The other two bottles stared back at her, making her feel self-conscious. She left the kitchen, pacing the length of the entire house before returning to the same two bottles. Her hand reached for the empty vodka bottle, holding it for a moment before smashing it against the granite countertop. It shattered, leaving glass everywhere and cutting her palm open.

“Fuck,” she winced, clutching the palm to her chest. The blood quickly spread to her white polo, a fact that she didn’t seem to notice as she reached for the whiskey.

Twisting the cap open, she felt nothing as the bottle reached her lips, swallowing as fast as she could. The whiskey was stronger, more demanding. She could feel her throat screaming for a break, but she pressed on until the bottle was empty. The dangers of her decisions were far from her mind as she dropped the whiskey bottle on the tile floor. It didn’t shatter like she hoped it would.

She could feel the alcohol coursing through her as she paced the house again, her hand leaving a trail of blood as she walked.

Returning to the counter, the last bottle sat, waiting for her. She pulled the cork out, taking a swig.

It came then suddenly, like a truck hitting a brick wall. The effects of her binge drinking arrived hard and fast, knocking her down. She managed to pull the tequila off of the counter with her, the glass shattering on the floor beside her as she lay, numb.

-

“Do you think she’s allergic to something?”

Lin shook his head. “That can’t be it because she didn’t eat anything this morning.”

Vanessa held her sleeping son close, waiting for Lin to pull out his keys to open their front door. They were greeted by an empty couch, a surprise to both of them. Lin glanced at his watch.

“It’s after midnight. She’s probably asleep.” he concluded.

“I’m gonna put Sebastian to bed,” she whispered, starting toward the hallway. As she passed the kitchen, however, she paused, speechless, staring at the ground.

“What’s up, V?” he moved to her side, curious as to what she was so preoccupied with. His jaw nearly hit the ground at the sight of the kitchen floor.

Alexa was there, unconscious, broken glass and spots of blood surrounding her. Her hand was obviously impaled, a large puddle of blood surrounding it.

“Holy shit.”

[lele-schuyler]

The Beginning of Josephine Miranda

A/N: Hi, if you are going to read this, prepare for the longest intro ever, I have been working on this story forever and I really want to get it out there. So I really hope you enjoy it! I love you. BYEEEE!!!!

Warnings: Mentions of Death!

•••

If you held up a flake of gold next to Josephine Miranda, you would be looking at the two most delicate things to the touch. Josephine has rocketed through success, and she has many people to thank for. But there is always the beginning. This is her beginning.

November 6th 1993, on a warm lively Saturday, in a little hut on the crystal blue waters of Bora Bora, a woman gave birth to her only child, a girl, she was born at 6.5 pounds, with a full set of dark brown hair. Her mother looked down at her child with the most loving eyes. Her father kneeled down beside the bed, tears in eyes as he examined his child.

When the child opened her eyes, they were almost green, a recessive gene that went back generations. And when asked for her name, her mother didn’t give the name first, she said the meaning. “Peut-elle ajouter” [may she add] her mother smiled, then looked up at the nurse and said “Josephine”.

Josephine Leia Bonilla.

She stood up to her name, when she walked into a room, her aura added a sense of comfort and happiness. Her smile was full of glee. She was a miraculous child.

Her father spoke Spanish to her while her mother spoke French, it should’ve confused her but it didn’t. She learned them well, switching up the languages here and there. Learning English was a breeze, since she went to an English/French speaking private school. Her parents were fairly wealthy people, her mother a physician and her father a lawyer. They kept Josephine busy, enrolling her in many things, she could handle it all, she was gifted. Singing, dancing, gymnastics, softball, swimming, and guitar.

She did it for 3 years in Canada, started when she was 1. When she was 4, her family moved to Hawaii, where she continued those activities, getting amazing at them for her age. When Josephine was 4, she inherited her mother looks, Rapunzel long but dark curly hair, golden eyes, and honey toned skin. But her fathers personality, naturally funny, gregarious, straightforward, intelligent but impulsive.

It was alright, she made a goddess of a child.

But it all went away, on a warm Thursday, April 8th, 1999, Josephine didn’t really want to stay in school, she did what children do best and call home. She knew her father and mother had a day off and called them claiming she had a tummy ache, and even pulled an act. Her parents agreed to go pick her up.

On April 8th, the day was dull and not as bright, especially for Hawaii, Josephine’s parents were driving down the roads of Maui, going down the curvy roads next to crashing clear blue tides. On a curve, disaster struck, a black bird hit the wind shield and her mother panicked, she jerked the wheel in fear, she jerked the wheel too hard, the car went off the railing and toppled down the rocks to the crashing tides.

A local driving by saw the accident, immediately calling the ambulence. The couple was rushed to the hospital, but by the time they got there the EKG ringed the haunting sound alerting the paramedics, they were lost.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Josephine didn’t understand much, she was only four. She did however understand there was a grievous weight in the air and she understood her parents were no longer around.

One week after her parents death and a week being spent with a caretaker for the mean time, Josephine’s belongings and clothes would be packed up, she would be moving.

-Four days prior-

The 19 year old boy walked up the stairs to his apartment, fresh in college, working on a bachelor’s degree in teaching, the teaching of English. He was a Puertorican American, dark haired secret that the world has not yet to discover. He held more talent in his pinky then the more people have in their whole body. He went to classes in Connecticut, and had owned a small loft enough for himself, and a small self. He set his keys on his little table that would aquate to multiple things such as a dinning table, a stool, and an office desk. His phone went off, slightly startling him. He examined it before deciding to pick it up. “Hello?” Lin asked, “hello, is this Lin-Manuel Miranda?” A kind voice asked. “This is he?” He said, unsure of the reasoning for the call. “Hello, I am Jordan Smith, how are you?” Jordan said, “I’m fine” Lin responded, “good, I’m calling on behalf of mister and misses Bonilla, I don’t know if you’re aware, but they were killed in a horrible car accident on Tuesday” Jordan stated. Lin was in shock, he knew them since he was 14, when he held their only child. “Josephine” Lin said, “what about Josephine?” Lin asked, “and that is what I am calling you for, in the will it states, and I quote, ‘in any instance of our absence we give full custody to a man who has much potential and only hope for him to pass it on to our beautiful daughter, Josephine Leia Bonilla. With also, upfront allowance of 800k in order to take care of Josephine and keep her in her enjoyed activities’ end quote” Jordan said. There was a ringing in Lin’s ears as he took a moment to sit on his small table, “Lin are you alright?” Jordan asked, “I-I– honestly I don’t know” Lin said, thoughtfully. “I know sir, it is alot to take in and the responsibility of raising a child is more than anyone ever begins to think of, but… between me and you, you are truly the only one eligible in her family to take care of her” “That’s the thing, I’m not family” Lin tried to reason, “now you are” Jordan said. Lin took a moment, “is there anyone else–” “sir, there is no one else, her aunt is addicted to every drug you can think of and refuses to go to rehab, her uncle goes MIA for years and comes back in some kind of trouble with gangs, both on probation, do you really think throwing away this little girls potential to some gangs and drugs is the best thing right now?” Jordan asked. Lin brought his hand across his mouth and chin deep in thoughr, weighing out his options, he hated being pushed into a corner from morale, he hated himself even more for even thinking about giving Josephine to two people who would kill her. “Upfront, 800k allowance to take care of Josephine?” Lin asked, “yes” Jordan said, “I’ll do it, I’ll take care of Josephine” he said, a pit opened up in his stomach realizing he had just excepted to take care of a child. “Also, one more thing about the allowance” Jordan explained one more term to the allowance of the Bonilla family which Lin was taken aback by.

Lin hung up the phone and slid down to the floor, back against the wall, sweat dribbling from his hairline. He took a moment before his stomach lurched, rushing himself to the bathroom.

—– A/N: I know my writing usually flops when I post something, but I have been working on the this for months and I really wanted to get it out there before someone had a similar idea. Thank you if you read all of it, it really means a lot to me, I have been so stuck on the story, I just didn’t know how to start it. But thank you so much for reading, I love you guys.

[rockinjoeco]

#WhitePrivelage - A trend or a concern?

Following up on Meghan Markle and Prince Harry’s decision to quit the royal family, the subject of racism has come into the equation in relation to the media’s treatment of Meghan Markle. A buzzfeed article emerged comparing the media’s treatment of Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle, prompting a debate as to whether there’s a subconscious racial bias at work from the UK press. Many Twitter users will have noticed the hashtag #whiteprivilege trending following up on an ITV interview featuring Dr. Shola Mos-Shogbamimu, where she discussed the press treatment of Meghan Markle and whether there was a racist agenda against her. She also brought up the concept of white privilege, where white people are considered to be more privileged in the sense that they won’t be judged by the colour of their skin as much as those from another racial background. In my blog post, I stated that the media’s treatment of Meghan Markle and members of the royal family has been appalling and I can’t blame Meghan Markle for deciding to move to Canada. Looking at the buzzfeed article, it is certainly valid to debate whether there is a racist agenda against Meghan Markle, but the debate of whether racism is still rife amongst British society is one that has been in the making for a long time.

Racism is a topic that prompts many heated arguments from many people, because it is a very sensitive, serious issue. Unfortunately, it has been present in many different aspects of our society and racism has occurred whether it’s blatant sluts or vulgar subtlety to disguise any racist agenda with apparent insight. I am absolutely disgusted by racism as much as any other member of a civilised society, but as a white person myself, it’s hard for me to speak up against it as many would argue that I am unqualified to do so because, being white, I’ve never experienced racism firsthand. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have empathy for those who do suffer from it, and I am not blind to see that it still exists in society today. The topic of white privilege seemed to be interpreted as some kind in contest on Twitter to see who is more or less privileged than who, when actually it was made just to spread awareness. In fact, some have argued that the concept of white privilege is actually racist towards white people, as brought up by actor Laurence Fox on Question Time last night. He accused an audience member of racism for calling him a ‘white privileged male’ during a discussion of the media treatment of Meghan Markle, and Fox then responded by saying ‘I can't help what I am, I was born like this, it's an immutable characteristic. So to call me a white privileged male is to be racist. You're being racist.’ This sparked a large amount of backlash on social media. Whatever you make of Fox’s comments, it does beggar the question; how does a white person approach a discussion about racism? Nobody could ever do the discourtesy of downplaying the trauma that a victim of racist abuse goes through, and I most certainly wouldn’t. I first learnt about racism in year 7 history when I learnt about slavery and how black people were slaves in the 18th and 19th century. It was sickening to learn that people were treated this way because of the colour of their skin. It also sickens me that racism still exists today.

After the general election result where the conservatives won by such a wide majority, many argued that the result was driven by an increase of racism in our society, particularly as Brexit was a factor in the election. Since the first referendum back in 2016, incidents involving racism has increased and now there are more reports of racism than there had been before. Brexit has arguably brought out the worst of human society and while it’s easy to say that those who voted for Brexit are racist, I’ve learnt in life that there are people who have different needs and things that are important to them. We live in a free country where people can vote for whoever they choose, and to condemn them for voting for a certain party would be killing democracy. However, I haven’t heard a significant reason as to why leaving the EU would be a good idea. It seemed to me that the arguments in favour of Brexit were in the form of slogans rather than actually being informative. Having seen the billions of pounds being spent on trying to make Brexit happen for over three years, you can’t help but feel that money would’ve been better spent on an underfunded NHS and helping reduce homelessness and poverty in the UK. As many will know, Boris Johnson has been accused of racism many times, and he also once write a racist novel back in 2004 called seventy two virgins, which featured Arabs who had been described as having a hooked nose and slanted eyes and Jews that controlled the media, sparking outrage over its racist stereotypes.

Racism has also been prominent in the English football this season, as racist chanting has been heard during games such as Man City v Man United and Tottenham v Chelsea. Raheem Sterling was a victim of racist abuse last season, and he said that sections of the media were responsible for fuelling racism, comparing Daily Mail headlines about young Man City players Phil Foden and Tosin Adarabioyo when they bought a new house. When Phil Foden bought a house, the headline read ‘Foden buys new £2m home for his mum’, but as for Adarabioyo, the headline read ‘Young Manchester City footballer, 20, on £25,000 a week splashes out on market for £2.25million despite having never started a Premier League match’. Just like with the comparisons of Daily Mail headlines regarding Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle, this has aroused suspicion of uncscious racist bias from the Daily Mail. Sterling posted it up on Instagram and has called for the media to give all players an equal chance, and then went on to receive praise and admiration for speaking out against racism. Earlier this season, an FA Cup game between Haringey and Yeovil was abandoned because of racism from fans, bottle throwing and spitting and the players marched off the pitch as a result. This happened not long after the Bulgaria vs England game when England players were subjected to horrific racist abuse from the Bulgaria fans. Prior to the game, England players had threatened to walk off the pitch if they received any racist abuse from the Bulgaria fans. During the game however, despite the match being temporarily stopped because of the abuse, the players bravely decided to continue the game and England went on to win 6-0. There is a three-step protocol from UEFA when there is abhorrent racist abuse at football matches. It’s first step is ‘Stop the match and instruct the stadium authorities to read out an announcement, calling upon the spectators to stop the discriminatory behaviour.’ The second step is ‘If this announcement does not have the desired effect, make another announcement, suspend the match and send the players to their dressing rooms for a specific period.’ The final step is ‘After consultation, abandon the match if the discriminatory behaviour still does not cease or breaks out again.’

There has also been a diversity row in the entertainment industry too, with the BAFTA and Oscar nominations listing prominently white and male nominees. There was a similar row when the Oscar nominations were announced back in 2016. This brings out the argument that whether the awards committee made the nominations out of genuine merit or from an unconscious bias. Stephen King said on twitter that he would ‘never consider diversity in matters of art’. This caused huge controversy with his followers and seemed to undermine the struggle that minorities go through when trying to get into the arts. I cannot say for sure the list of nominations this year had a racist or sexist agenda or not, but I can understand the debate about it. There was a documentary called ‘The Problem with Apu’, which explores the controversy of the Indian character Apu from The Simpsons. The documentary writer Hari Kondabolu talks about how he first idolised Apu on The Simpson’s because he was a main Indian character on a popular worldwide TV show, but then as he got older he started seeing problems with the way the character was represented and perceived the characterisation of Apu to be racist. This then brings up whether stereotyping in comedy is considered racist, particularly noting that Apu is voiced by American actor Hank Azaria. In the sense that white privilege can blind white people from seeing potential racism, our enjoyment of seeing Apu in the Simpsons has arguably blinded fans like myself from seeing that actually Apu is a racist representation of Asian people, particularly as this controversy was brought up 25 years after the character first appeared in The Simpsons. Amidst the criticism of Apu and the fact he is voiced by a white actor, nobody had mentioned the fact that the character of Cleveland Brown, a black character on Family Guy, is voiced by a white actor. Another example of stereotyping in comedy is in the characterisation of Manuel from Fawlty Towers, who is portrayed by the late English actor Andrew Sachs. Manuel is portrayed as a hapless Spanish waiter who is often abused by main character Basil Fawlty for his incompetence. Having found Manuel hilarious in Fawlty Towers, am I now guilty of laughing at racism? Has my apparent white privilege blinded me from seeing that this use of stereotyping could be considered offensive?

Racism is not the only form of discrimination existing in our society. There have been recent cases of antisemitism in Britain, such as a Jewish father and son being abused on the London Underground back in November and antisemitic graffiti being smeared onto a synagogue in London. The Labour Party were investigated for racism due to allegations of antisemitism. That is only the second time a political party in the UK had been investigated for racism, and the other time that happened was for a party of actual nazis. Departing labour leader Jeremy corbyn had been accused of antisemitism after endorsing an antisemitic book and his association with hate preacher Sheikh Raed Salah, who once claimed that Israelis bake bread out of their children’s blood. Although Jeremy Corbyn had been victim of a smear campaign by the media before, being Jewish myself, I do take these allegations seriously, as have many members of the Jewish community. Even though Corbyn has been smeared before and even though he has a noble background of campaigning against racism and volunteering at homeless shelters, but that shouldn’t clear him of any kind of wrongdoing. Those who speak of right-wing propaganda and how powerful the media establishment is forget that departing Lib Dem’s leader Jo Swinson was equally smeared and ridiculed by the media too, and was also excluded from the first leaders debate on ITV, prompting me to believe there was a hidden misogynist agenda from the broadcaster. Yes, I know that Swinson’s voting record wasn’t perfect during the coalition, especially when she voted If they had argued that another party leader was a victim of right-wing propaganda too, then maybe I would have believed in that concept. Even though some media outlets seemed to be more biased towards Boris Johnson, I didn’t believe that there was a conspiracy against Corbyn within the media, as I thought some people seemed to confuse criticism for propaganda and smears. Had they mentioned the bad coverage Jo Swinson received from the media, then they might have had a case.

Homophobia is also sadly an issue in our society, as demonstrated with attack victim Charlie Graham showing images of the injuries she sustained from an attack due to her sexuality. She told Sky News about how she was assaulted and the injuries that she sustained. Last summer, a horrific attack on a lesbian couple happened on a London bus which saw four teenagers sentenced last month. The image of the injuries sustained by the couple was one of the most devastating images of 2019, showing how this type of discrimination exists and the horrific effects of it. Sexism is another issue, with the prominence of the #MeToo movement becoming a trend back in 2017 following the sexual harassment case against Harvey Weinstein. The movement actually began in 2006 by Tarana Burke, who was a victim of sexual harassment herself, but it was in 2017 when it became a hashtag to promote feminism and hopefully end sexual harassment. Pay gaps in the workplace have also underlined the problems with discrimination. 78% of major companies in Britain have male employees being paid more than their female colleagues working at a similar level, despite the Equal Pay Act 1970. There is a similar issue with disabled employees too, with Tory MP Sally-Ann Hart stating during her election campaign last month that disabled people should be paid less than the minimum wage as they wouldn’t understand money. As a disabled person myself, it is extremely degrading to hear that people like myself apparently don’t have the right to be paid the fair amount like other employees.

There are many forms of discrimination, so along with white privilege, there are many different types of privileges. While I personally don’t believe that the criticism of Meghan Markle is racist, I can understand the debate. I would also say that while I understand the concept of white privilege, an awareness campaign which has unfortunately been confused for an attack on white people, I think Dr. Shola Mos-Shogbamimu missed an opportunity to really cement her point by showing the comparisons in headlines of Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle from the Daily Mail and also the comparisons in headlines of those two young Man City footballers too, which shows that the Daily Mail have been guilty of unconscious racial bias before. Brexit has brought on more hate than before and claims that UK is a tolerant country seems to be completely laughable now, and events like the Notting Hull carnival which celebrate diversity seems to be rendered redundant and don’t really make much sense knowing what Brexit has made the UK become. Whether or not the criticism of Meghan Markle is racist, it is completely pointless and tabloid journalism (and also Piers Morgan) only speaks to the ignorant, uneducated population of Great Britain. The sooner this brand of journalism is killed off, the better. It is of no surprise that the majority of those who are against Meghan Markle and claim that criticism of her isn’t racist have voted for Boris Johnson and Brexit, which clearly states their stance on racism. I’m not going to compare which form of discrimination is worse, because ALL forms of discrimination are completely wrong and I, along with other good human beings, hope to see the end of discrimination once and for all.

[365footballorg-blog]

Guardiola on football, family, love and the six songs that define him

Media playback is not supported on this device

From the humble child who played football on empty streets, to the manager who conquered the game, and now the father who escapes the world behind his closed front door with his favourite music.

Manchester City manager Pep Guardiola chooses the songs that help define the key moments of his life and career in an exclusive interview with Spanish journalist Guillem Balague for BBC Radio 5 live.

Guardiola speaks at length about his upbringing, his family and his special relationship with the people of Manchester, while reflecting on what the future might hold.

He also talks about the night his wife and two daughters were caught up in the Manchester Arena attack[1].

This is Pep Guardiola as you have never heard him before.

Download the full interview: Pep Music, a 5 live Sport Special[2]

The programme will also be broadcast on Thursday at 19:00 BST [3]

‘We were lucky. Many others suffered’

Don’t Look Back in Anger, by Oasis. (1996)

Slip inside the eye of your mind

Don’t you know you might find

A better place to play

I love this song, you cannot imagine how much. It is incredible. It puts me in the best of myself when I listen – it’s a masterpiece. Every time we we go out we always sing this song together. I love it.

I like that, after what happened in Manchester at the arena, now it is a song for the people, you know? Like in the video when everyone is in silence and one woman starts to sing the song[4] and everybody sings, that is a moment, it was so touching for my family and for myself.

When the attack happened, I was at home with my son, and my wife and daughters were there – they were at the arena.

She called me but the line broke immediately. She told me “something happened and we are running but I don’t know what happened” and the line broke. We tried to call her again and it didn’t work; we went to the the arena and after five or six minutes she rang again and said: “We are out, we’re coming back home.”

At the end we were lucky. Many people suffered, and we were lucky. Life is like this. We were in a better position than many unfortunate ones.

‘Every man has his escape. Mine is home’

The Healing Day, by Bill Fay (2012)

It will be OK on the healing day

No more coldest place

On the healing day

With music, sometimes it’s the tones, sometimes it’s the lyrics. This song will be the one that reminds me of the period of my life in Manchester. I listen a lot to this song. I like it, I like a lot Bill Fay.

It’s the perfect song to stay at home when you read a book, being with the kids and listening. Every man has his own escape and when I am exhausted, immediately it is home.

Only at home I feel safe. I mean safe in terms of not being observed. I close the door and I feel safe.

I know my job from 18, 19 years old. I have lived many years in this type of life and it’s not a problem, I understand, I play that game.

But when I escape it’s home. Home, home, wife, kids – it’s the only place where I can do whatever I want, where I am free to do all the silly and stupid things and not be judged.

My wife Cristina, the lovely kids we have, it’s because she was there. My family know that I am there but I am not there. Sometimes I’m at home but not at home. They call Pep! Pep! but they know I am in my own world.

My job is demanding a lot. Cristina is an incredible woman, not just an incredible mother. If we were talking about moving to New York, Munich and here, if she decides not to come I won’t come. I will not be here – I cannot be alone in this kind of job without my family.

Media playback is not supported on this device

‘I was not a kid who went to parties’

Fiesta, by Joan Manuel Serrat (1970)

Today the aristocrat and the villain

The famous and the infamous

Dance and hold hands without caring what they look like

Serrat is one of the best singers in Catalunya in Spain, and this song always bring me happiness. I like it a lot. The Sant Joan party that the song talks about is a typical party in Catalunya, celebrated on 23 June with fire on the beach or in the street, everybody dancing, having fun.

I was not a guy who went to a lot of parties. At 13 years old I was going to Barcelona’s academy. I always tried to be focused and I never went to discos or to pubs to drink a lot. But in the summer, when school was finished, everyone would go to the Sant Joan party and it’s a song that reminds me a lot of my little, little town of Santpedor when I was young.

I think it’s impossible to have lived a better childhood, to have been a happier little boy than I was. We were not a wealthy family. We were normal people, more poor than rich, in a little town, and every day I was in the streets with no traffic lights, no cars, always playing, bicycling, football, basketball, tennis, pool.

I remember absolutely that. I would wake up, go out to the street, then school, then back out on the street until mum said: OK it’s time to have dinner and come back home.

Times have changed so much, and I am not complaining, but I think kids miss that a little bit now, especially if you live in big cities. I have lived in Barcelona, New York, Munich, now here in Manchester, but I was so happy in that period in my life – I have amazing memories.

I am not the same as I was when a kid. That’s normal; I am not the same as last year. But the basics are the same. The education you receive from parents, school, your friends, it’s always something you carry for the rest of your life, but we change. I was a boy and now I am a father; maybe in a few years I will be a grandfather.

‘I’m not shy to show my love’

Amor Particular, by Lluis Llach (1984)

Together, we have walked

In joy together, in sorrow together

And very often, you have filled the emptiness of my words

It is one of the best love songs I have heard in my life. Sometimes when I meet English people, I would like to translate this song. This is a real, real song.

Lluis Llach is one of my inspirations, a Catalan singer, he is a legend in Catalunya. He is like the most loved and popular guy, like Serrat, for many songs but this one especially.

I discovered it as a teenager, the first love, the second love, and it really is part of my life, definitely.

I’m not shy to say how I love my people. Maybe the opposite, maybe I say too many times how I love them. In that I feel so Latin – my face or my body language always expresses perfectly what I feel in that moment, I am not escaping or hiding.

With my players, sometimes I think many times: Don’t do that Pep. Even now I don’t know if I should show too much love because sometimes you suffer more if you get too close to your players.

But in football the passion is on the field, sometimes I need to hug them, I don’t need to talk to them. People forget we are human beings. People believe we are like ice, cold, a machine. That is far away from who we really are.

‘The charisma of that city. Everybody goes back’

New York, New York, sung by Frank Sinatra (1980)

I want to wake up

In a city that doesn’t sleep

And find I’m king of the hill

Top of the heap

What can I say about New York that Frank Sinatra hasn’t already explained better than anyone else? Anything you need, anything you want, you have it there. You will have to pay – it is a service city – but you will have it.

My kids learned English there. When we arrived they didn’t have a single word and after five, six months they spoke fluently, perfect.

The charisma of that city, everyone who has been there wants to go back, it is a very special place.

I thought it would be a nice place to spend one year away from football. Of course you are always connected, but living there and not in Europe, it is completely different. It was a good moment.

I arrived and stayed the first month and then signed a contract to go to Bayern Munich. I started to study German. It is so complicated to learn. Three or four hours a day in the morning with the grammar, after two months I thought: I’m going to call and break the contract.

It is so complicated even for German kids to learn. Can you imagine for a 41-year-old man? But I am stubborn.

Sinatra was a fighter; he had work ethic, not just the talent. Everyone knows his voice, it’s incredible, the charisma. Always I like a lot because he took all his decisions, he only sang the songs he wanted to sing. And to be a fighter with more than 50 years on the stage you have to be so good. Chapeau.

‘Always I say, look for your talent’

Your Song, by Elton John (1970)

My gift is my song

And this one’s for you

Of course we all have a gift to give. I think I am good in football because my work is my passion. When I say I love this game, I love this game. When you put your passion in front of you always it works.

Always I try to to say look for your talent. Even if you want to work in the most stupid thing, just do it. I say the same things to my kids: try to discover what you love most and then it won’t feel like effort, it will be pleasure.

Life is sometimes short, sometimes long, but if you wake up every morning knowing you are going to do something you like, that is enough – that is the pay-off.

One of my dreams is to have a concert from Elton John, especially this song. I first heard it was when I was 18 or 19 and started to play in Barcelona, I remember a lot of songs from that period in my life.

I met him when we played Watford at the end of last season and it was a huge pleasure. If he has organised a concert here, please, I will be there.

*Bonus tracks

Pep on his legacy: ‘I will be Mancunian for the rest of my life’

Statistics and numbers are nice, but numbers are not passion. It does not give you something. It is better to say after 10 years I remember this final and how well we played, to remember the way we have done it.

Titles are important of course, and they have helped me have jobs and to keep working on my passion.

But I think all the managers we are happy with our old players, when we can laugh and hug and have a good relation. Everyone loves to be loved, it is the secret of our lives.

I will be Mancunian for the rest of my life. I will be a Manchester City fan and it will be impossible to train another team like Manchester City in England because I feel love from the people here.

When the people say, what do you want? To be loved. The most nice thing is when you feel good with the other people.

On Johan Cruyff: ‘He gave us secrets’

Dutch football legend Cruyff, who died of cancer in 2016, coached Guardiola at Barcelona and was a mentor to him when he began his own coaching career.

He helped me to love this game, to love football, and to love it you have to understand it.

He gave us secrets, because they were things nobody else saw. The way he sees football is totally different; he had a lot of power in that way. Obsessive, demanding, stressful. He was like a brutal father. He was so rough – so tough, you cannot imagine.

Nothing was easy, and there was a time when I could not stay with him anymore, but he was fair.

I am not such a religious guy – I grew up going to church but I don’t believe too much – so I don’t talk to him, but I always remember. Maybe I would like to have faith to believe he is there watching us. Sometimes I think maybe it’s happened.

On the refugee crisis

It’s the world we live in right now. All around the Mediterranean people are dying and the governments in Italy, Spain, it is not allowed for the people to rescue the people who are dying.

I don’t know what kind of society we are going to do because it’s not about the law, it’s about humanity. If there are people dying and heroes going in with open arms to rescue them, and the governments don’t let them do that, it’s because we are going really, really bad.

That is why the European community, the United States, Russia, all the big countries have to solve these problems.

In Spain there was a civil war and the people went away, maybe here to England, to Mexico, Holland, France, Germany, because of war. It happened, and they accepted us. My grandfathers, the fathers of my grandfathers, they accepted us. They didn’t want to leave but there was a war, and it’s again happening right now.

They accepted us so why not accept them now too?

On David Silva and his ‘fighter’ baby son

Manchester City midfielder David Silva’s son was born prematurely, at 25 weeks, in December 2017. In January, Silva said his son was “fighting day by day”. In May, baby Mateo was given the all-clear to go home, and in August, Silva carried his son on to the Etihad pitch before his side’s 6-1 victory over Huddersfield.[5]

Always it will be an amazing part of our life together, for all the team who saw how he suffered, what happened. Mateo fought for his life many months and to David we said if you have to stay there and come back, you can decide. We are here for everything you need.

It is going well. David is strong – I think he is more mature. I have a feeling he laughs more now, he talks more. It was nice to see this amazing, happy end in a tough situation. I think Mateo will be strong – he survived for his life, so whatever happens in his life he can handle it.

David is shy, he doesn’t talk too much, does not give many interviews, but whatever people might believe about him, the complete opposite is true. He is a real fighter. That is why Mateo will be too.

On the importance of innovation

I think humanity goes forward because people don’t accept what the reality is and try to discover new things.

If you don’t try to be creative and don’t ask why do we have to do that, why not another way, then humanity doesn’t exist anymore. These kind of people are necessary to make humanity much better.

Football is nice because what works today doesn’t work tomorrow. Sometimes you are doing something well and you say OK, if we continue that way it will start to go bad. When you see the signals, you have the feelings, you have to do something different.

All managers, we make a lot of decisions because of feelings. We have a lot of information about the opponents you meet, you put in the brain, but you have to live the feelings.

References

^ Manchester Arena attack (www.bbc.co.uk)

^ Download the full interview: Pep Music, a 5 live Sport Special (www.bbc.co.uk)

^ The programme will also be broadcast on Thursday at 19:00 BST (www.bbc.co.uk)

^ video when everyone is in silence and one woman starts to sing the song (www.theguardian.com)

^ carried his son on to the Etihad pitch (www.bbc.co.uk)

BBC Sport – Football

Guardiola on football, family, love and the six songs that define him was originally published on 365 Football

[kayawagner]

Why Do We Put Off Making Changes?

Here it is, another issue of the Start-up Diaries, Santiago edition.

I was talking with a friend of mine in Start-up Chile, she runs Mi Manuel de Bebe  (your baby instruction manual) , one of the biggest parenting sites in Colombia. Like me, she had been saying for years she was going to expand in Latin America, outside of her home country, even going so far to travel to Chile and Peru. But it took her moving to Chile to do it.

For over a year, we’ve been saying at 7 Generation Games that we were going to expand more in the Spanish-speaking market, revise our Spanish language website (yes, our brand in Latin America is Strong Mind Studios ) . We even made bilingual games. Still, it took me moving to Chile to do it.

Why do we put off changes we are perfectly capable of making?

The title of this post was a little misleading, because I really don’t know.  However, you haven’t completely wasted your time reading because I do have three ideas as to why many of us at Start-up Chile in Santiago have started seeing significant leaps forward in our businesses after a rough few months.

Do you want to get better at teaching fractions? Want to learn Ojibwe history and culture? Check out Fish Lake.

We know it’s going to be hard. From becoming fluent in Spanish to getting pilot schools in a new country where I knew literally no one, changes I’ve made since being here have been just as hard as I expected, or sometimes harder. If you were looking for one of those up-lifting “The hardest thing is getting started” posts, this isn’t it. Some days it feels as if the hardest part is all of it. While having a realistic appraisal of how hard changes are might keep you from starting, I think that also keeps you from quitting once you do start, because you know what you are getting into.

We made a public commitment. Not only did all of us here commit to building our business in Chile, but we did it publicly. It was announced on their website. We told our families, customers, investors and friends and then we got on a plane and flew here, or, in the case of our Chilean friends, quit our day jobs. We couldn’t pretend at the end of the year that we really weren’t serious about expanding our businesses. If we fail, it will be a public failure and that certainly lends some motivation.

We made plans, not wishes. Even though the SUP board meetings can be a bit annoying some times, they serve a very useful purpose. Every one of us was required to give written objectives we were going to achieve after 3 months and after 7 months. We couldn’t just say “market our games in Chile”, we had to give actual numbers of contacts we would make and customers we would get. That accountability made us actually focus on getting those things done.

So, maybe you don’t want to pack up and move to another country. You still have the option of adopting those three steps and making the changes you’ve been putting off. If you are a teacher, you KNOW you have that long list of things you were going to do over the summer. Just pick one! Three months from now you’ll be asking yourself why you put it off for so long.

  The post Why Do We Put Off Making Changes? appeared first on 7 Generation Games.

Why Do We Put Off Making Changes? published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

[ixvyupdates]

His Hometown in Mexico Had No School. Now He’s Inspiring the Next Generation of Latino Educators.

This profile of teacher Manuel Mendoza was written for Honored by Steve Padilla of the Los Angeles Times. Each month, Honored recognizes a impactful teacher who is changing students’ lives, seeking to further its mission of keeping great teachers in the classroom and inspire a new generation of talent to pursue teaching.

Who knows if she merely wanted to bolster a young boy’s confidence, or whether she saw in Manuel Mendoza something he hadn’t yet recognized himself, but one day the principal of a small elementary school in central Mexico had an idea.

Would he help teach the younger students math? As would often happen in his academic career, Mendoza doubted himself, until he got an extra bit of encouragement, a reassuring nudge.

“I can’t do it,” he told the principal.

“Yes, you can.”

jQuery(document).ready(function($){

var img = $(‘.aesop-parallax-sc.aesop-parallax-sc-12334-1 .aesop-parallax-sc-img’) , setHeight = function() {

img.parent().imagesLoaded( function() {

var imgHeight = img.height() , imgCont = img.parent()

//imgCont.css(‘height’,Math.round(imgHeight * 0.69)) imgCont.css(‘height’,Math.round(imgHeight * (0.85-0.06*1)))

if ( $(window).height = scrollTop + windowHeight) { return; }

obj.css({‘transform’:’translate3d(0px,’ + floater + ‘px, 0px)’});

} // end if on floater

scrollParallax(); $(window).scroll(function() { scrollParallax(); });

}); // end jquery doc ready

“He’s a very loving individual—not a word you hear often in education.”

Looking back, he thinks they might have been first-graders, though it’s hard to remember now. But, as the principal suggested, he tried, and the little kids learned. “It started there,” he recalls. “I decided I wanted to be a math teacher.”

Mendoza now teaches at Gadsden High School in Anthony, New Mexico, a town of about 9,300 hard against the Texas state line, about 21 miles north of El Paso. It’s an agricultural area and pecan orchards lead right up to the Gadsden campus. The town is 97 percent Latino, and 40 percent live below the poverty level. Most of Gadsden’s students qualify for subsidized lunches.

In his 22 years at Gadsden, Mendoza has developed a reputation as an exacting teacher who pushes his students, firmly but gently, to succeed—and not just in his class. He monitors their grades, checks with their other teachers, he calls their parents, he calls them. He arranges tutoring. He brings food—cookies, or even burritos—to class on big test days, because no student should have to take an important exam while hungry. The sixth of 11 children, he remembers what it’s like to go to school with a stomach not quite full.

“He has a tremendous sense of ownership,” says Gadsden Principal Hector S. Giron. “He sees a reflection of himself in the students here. He’s a very loving individual—not a word you hear often in education.”

One of his former students, Gabriel Holguin, puts it another way: “He’s like the father I never had.”

Mendoza teaches Spanish, not math, and the journey that took him from the world of vector analysis and Boolean algebra to that of Cervantes and Garcia Marquez is one that involved high hopes, punishing setbacks and, crucially, the intervention of friends and teachers who knew when to step in and say, “Yes, you can.”

He grew up in San Jose de Manantiales, a town with perhaps 600 residents, and no school, in the state of Guanajuato. He and other children had to cross the highway to the neighboring town of Franco, which was even smaller, but had a school with first and second grades.

He repeated second grade a few times because attending third grade and beyond meant walking about four miles along the highway to reach a school in another town, Franco Tavera. After he was older, he and other children would walk together to the other school, where the principal asked him to teach the little kids.

Manuel Mendoza, Gadsden High School Spanish teacher.

He came to the United States with an uncle in 1974, arriving by bus in Chicago on Christmas Eve. He was reunited with his parents, who had come to the States three years earlier. He was 15, had a sixth-grade education and spoke no English. He was placed in sixth grade but was able to speed through grades quickly, landing at Harrison Technical High School in 18 months.

These days he recounts for frustrated students his own efforts to master another language. He tells them how, when ordering food, “I only asked for a hamburger, fries and Coke,” because that’s all he could say in English.

Bit by bit, his vocabulary grew. In time he was ordering 7 Up or lemonade. Maybe orange juice. It’s the little things, he says, that you have to practice. “Kids don’t hear this enough,” he says.

After high school he enrolled at the University of Chicago with the goal of becoming a math teacher. But he did poorly, and his still evolving English became a frequent stumbling block. Victor Torres, a fellow Mexican immigrant Mendoza had met in high school, urged Mendoza to leave Chicago and join him at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign as a transfer.

“What if they don’t take me in?” Mendoza said.

“You don’t lose anything by trying,” replied Torres, who helped him prepare the application and even delivered it personally to the admissions office.

Mendoza went on a trip to Mexico and returned to Chicago to discover a letter from the University of Illinois waiting for him. He was scared to read it, but then remembered what Torres had said. He opened the envelope. “Welcome,” it began.

jQuery(document).ready(function($){

var img = $(‘.aesop-parallax-sc.aesop-parallax-sc-12334-2 .aesop-parallax-sc-img’) , setHeight = function() {

img.parent().imagesLoaded( function() {

var imgHeight = img.height() , imgCont = img.parent()

//imgCont.css(‘height’,Math.round(imgHeight * 0.69)) imgCont.css(‘height’,Math.round(imgHeight * (0.85-0.06*1)))

if ( $(window).height = scrollTop + windowHeight) { return; }

obj.css({‘transform’:’translate3d(0px,’ + floater + ‘px, 0px)’});

} // end if on floater

scrollParallax(); $(window).scroll(function() { scrollParallax(); });

}); // end jquery doc ready

“He’s like the father I never had.”

He transferred to Urbana-Champaign but again struggled academically, mainly because of his developing English. Finally, after more disappointing math grades, he changed his major to Spanish, and during a visit to Harrison High he grudgingly told his old teachers of the switch.

“I felt I let myself down when I changed from math to Spanish, because it had been my plan for so long,” he says. “I felt like I had let everybody down.”

Later, a friend at Urbana-Champaign, another fellow immigrant from Mexico, faintly echoed the confidence-building principal back in Guanajuato. Mendoza’s voice gets shaky when he recounts what his friend, Teodosio Garcia, said.

“No te preocupes. Te vas a ser maestro.”

Don’t worry. You’re going to be a teacher.

“I started to think, ‘He’s right. I’m still going to be a teacher,’” he says. True, it wasn’t math. But it was teaching.

Fast forward a few decades to Anthony, New Mexico. Gabriel Holguin was a freshman, and the transition to high school wasn’t going well.

“I disliked my freshman year because I really didn’t have a teacher who cared,” Gabriel says. “I didn’t understand several of my classes, and also I wasn’t the brightest student. Several teachers gave up on me.”

His GPA was a dismal 1.8. Gabriel says one district official even suggested he drop out of school and get a job “like a real man.”

“There was a point I wanted to give up,” Gabriel says. “I thought I wasn’t going to graduate at all.”

Then one day he walked into Mendoza’s classroom, what he calls “a funky class with a wild teacher.”

The walls are decorated with inspirational sayings, such as “Respeto + Dedicacion =  éxito.” Respect + Dedication = Success. Taped to one cabinet door is a black and white photograph showing four rows of excessively serious Mexican third-graders from the 1972-73 school year.

“Where’s Mr. Mendoza?” asks a caption in Spanish. The Gadsden mascot is the panther, and Mendoza often exhorts his students with “va manos panteras!” Let’s go, Panthers!

“As soon as I walked into his class,” Gabriel says, “I felt the love and the warmth. He shook my hand and welcomed me with a huge smile that brightened my day.”

Manuel Mendoza speaks with a student.

But many students, and even relatives, had warned him not to take Mendoza’s class. He’s too demanding, they said, his expectations too high. An uncle had dropped his class.

Gabriel’s aunt, Laura Melissa Medina, took AP Spanish with Mendoza in 2004 and remembers her thoughts after the first week: “I’m dropping this class. I don’t want to deal with this man.” But she held on. “I stuck it out, and I loved that class.”

She wasn’t surprised when her nephew was advised to drop out. Some adults don’t expect much of kids in Anthony, she says. But not Mendoza. She says that when she was getting her master’s in Spanish, she realized that some of the course work was familiar because she had studied the material back in Mendoza’s class. She also remembers the frequent exhortations of “vamanos panteras” and the snacks he brings in on big test days. One time they were a burrito short. He gave her his.

Mendoza credits his own teachers for the drive he tries to instill in his students. “I was afraid to succeed,” he says.

His voice tinged with disbelief, he wonders why his teachers singled him out.

“They could have chosen somebody else,” he says.

He credits his parents, too, for his life’s work. Meliton and Maria Amparo Mendoza had minimal education—“they just barely could write their names”—but “they always tried to tell us how important it was to go to school.”

So when Gabriel’s grades were plummeting, Mendoza reached out to his other teachers, asked about tutoring, checked up on Gabriel constantly. Gabriel’s parents are separated, and he had missed many father-son moments others take for granted.

One time Mendoza walked into the restroom to discover Gabriel struggling to tie a tie. “Gabriel, come here,” he said.

Back in his classroom, Mendoza gave him a lesson not found on any AP Spanish syllabus. “I got it on the third try,” Gabriel says.

jQuery(document).ready(function($){

var img = $(‘.aesop-parallax-sc.aesop-parallax-sc-12334-3 .aesop-parallax-sc-img’) , setHeight = function() {

img.parent().imagesLoaded( function() {

var imgHeight = img.height() , imgCont = img.parent()

//imgCont.css(‘height’,Math.round(imgHeight * 0.69)) imgCont.css(‘height’,Math.round(imgHeight * (0.85-0.06*1)))

if ( $(window).height = scrollTop + windowHeight) { return; }

obj.css({‘transform’:’translate3d(0px,’ + floater + ‘px, 0px)’});

} // end if on floater

scrollParallax(); $(window).scroll(function() { scrollParallax(); });

}); // end jquery doc ready

“I knew he was a smart kid.”

For Mendoza, one key to teaching is finding a way to connect to students. Ask him about his work and the words “connect,” “connection” and “connecting” pour forth again and again. Gabriel just needed some direction and support.

Gabriel transferred to Alma d’Arte Charter High School in Las Cruces, but his relationship with Mendoza continues. His old teacher still calls to check up on him, sometimes even asking how things are going with his girlfriend.

Last semester, Gabriel got straight A’s, and in the fall he’ll begin courses at New Mexico State University. “I want to be a teacher,” he says, not surprisingly.

He’s interested in social studies and perhaps working with special education students, the kind who often need an extra bit of encouragement, a reassuring nudge—or maybe even a lesson in tying a tie. “I knew he was a smart kid,” Mendoza says simply. According to the calendar, Gabriel should be entering his senior year of high school. But this determined young man—who once carried a 1.8 GPA—will be graduating a year early.

This profile originally appeared at Honored.org.

Photos courtesy of Honored.

His Hometown in Mexico Had No School. Now He’s Inspiring the Next Generation of Latino Educators. syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

[adambstingus]

Tourism starting to bleed the Lickan Antay people of the Atacama desert dry

Chiles Los Flamencos reserve is the countrys first to be co-managed by the state and indigenous people. Yet the Lickan Antays existence is still a battle

Global development is supported by

Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation

Welcome to Calama, the city of sun and copper, proclaims the banner at the entrance to the city, near the Atacama desert. A little further along the road are tourist signs: Los Flamencos national reserve, Death valley, Salt desert. And then, in rapid succession: Cosmo Andino Expeditions The Adventure Begins!, Pachamama Bed and Breakfast. The stage is set: copper mines, unique natural sites and tourism shape this high, plateaued region of northern Chile.

The Lickan Antay situate their villages around oases. The key to their survival is the management of water. Manuel Silvestre Gmez, in his 40s, proudly wears his national reserve guard uniform. He loves to talk about his roots.

To be a Lickan Antay is to be a son of the earth. Each of us knows who his ancestors are. In town you know your grandparents, maybe your great-grandparents, he says. We also know how to stay alive in the most arid desert in the world. Weve learned how to adapt, to manage water, to create our villages. Its our land. [Ours] is a culture of survival in a dry and salt flat-covered region.

The Los Flamencos reserve is the first example in Chile of the co-management of a protected area by the state and indigenous people. The sign warns that access to the area is restricted by law. All photographs: Riccardo Pravettoni

Of course, weve lost things too. Our language, Kunsa, was outlawed at one point and almost disappeared we all speak Spanish now.

At more than 70 years old, Felisa Lpez Ramo still tends her garden, organises the collection of water from the sparse rains, carries water from the river and lives off her modest cultivation. She recalls her youth, before the Pinochet dictatorship, before the mines, before tourism. We had an abundance here, because we had our irrigation systems. You know, now they want to bring us irrigation systems from Israel. But we have our own systems.

We know how to grow wheat and corn. We dont need detergent to wash our clothes: we have small berries that grow here which produce soap. When I was young, we made our own beer and wine for the ceremonies, and we used flamingo feathers. They were used as augurs, or to encourage the mountains, where the water is born. Wherever the water went, life was born. Its simple.

Our people were invaded by the Inca, then the Spanish, then the Chileans, the miners. Now, conservation and tourists have arrived. Theyre all just passing through. Us, were staying.

Tourism has had a major impact. In 1990, the Chilean government established the Los Flamencos national reserve. Rather than resist the move, the Lickan Antay who, along with other indigenous peoples of Chile, are among the poorest in the country (pdf) chose to negotiate and adapt. The national reserve is the first example in Chile of the co-management of a protected area by the state and indigenous people.

It is now seen as a strategic alliance that allows the government and the people to preserve the environment more effectively, and channel tourism. The co-management agreement also allows the Lickan Antay to attract other opportunities for development.

Leticia Gonzlez-Silvestre was born in Toconau, one of the desert villages of the Lickan Antay. After studying away from home, she has returned with an agricultural engineering diploma.

Leticia Gonzlez-Silvestre, a respected member of the indigenous council.

She says co-management of the reserve has given them employment and training opportunities. The communities have formed a non-profit association to collect and redistribute money earned from the reserve. Its a benefit in terms of economics and development, but its also a recognition of our culture. We continue to negotiate an increasingly important part of the management, taking advantage of the fact that the government has neither the capacity nor the means to invest more.

The national forest corporation, Conaf, which coordinates the management of protected areas for the government, says the collaboration allows it to fill a gap in its teams. Alejandro Santoro, Conafs regional director, says: This gives us a constant and broader view of the situation. This way, the Lickan Antay are assimilated like personnel.

Its a positive approach, adds Ivonne Valenzuela, who is in charge of a Conaf unitdedicated to relations with indigenous communities. The model weve adopted is to engage in contracts with the communities. In this way, they can benefit from tourism while we concentrate on the protection of biodiversity. We work with them on many aspects of the management of the reserve, and on the planning and management of eco-tourism projects.

But not everyone is happy about the surge in the number of tourists spending time in thereserve, which is now the second most visited in Chile, with more than 300,000 visitors a year (pdf). While some welcome the economic advantages, others are concerned about the establishment of tour companies and agencies that ignore the Lickan Antays customs and, in some instances, deny their existence.

The small town of San Pedro de Atacama is a succession of hotels, restaurants, bars, souvenir shops and tourist agencies. Nights are festive, the restaurants offer international cuisine and the wisest visitors go to bed early to be ready for their treks to discover the geysers and flamingos of the salt flats.

San Pedro de Atacama lies in a region of volcanoes and salt flats, in an arid high plateau of the Andes mountains.

All that interests them is filling the bus and visiting the sites, not experiencing a different way of life, says Sandra Flores, one of the Lickan Antay, who runs a small tourism company, Caravana Ancestral.

For us its very difficult to know that our existence is negated in this way. And were unable to get a foothold in the tourism market. The guides say the desert is empty, that there are no more indigenous people. Sure, were not in San Pedro, but were everywhere in the desert. We dedicate ourselves to our animals, to farming the land.

Before the creation of the reserve there wasnt a single tourist, and suddenly theyre everywhere. We havent had the time to react and to learn how to set up commercial establishments. But we exist. And our existence is a constant battle.

Flores set up her business four years ago. She and several members of the community receive tourists in their homes, share a moment together to talk about their way of life, let tourists take out the llamas, and show visitors a Lickan Antay archeological site. But none of them speak fluent English and the business is not well established.

However, the most serious impact of the tourism explosion has been to put pressure on the precarious water situation. The hundreds of hotels being built in San Pedro guzzle water.

The hotels wanted to buy land and we sold it to them. Already we didnt have enough water to farm, and now we have to go to another river to fetch water, one we didnt go to before, says Lpez Ramo.

San Pedro de Atacama, a focus for tourism within the Atacama desert.

Because of the hotels, some of the Lickan Antay who live close to San Pedro say, their usual water source dried up. The community no longer has easy access to drinking water, and is forced to use supplies that have passed through a salt desert, meaning the water is more salinated.

The Lickan Antay have also been forbidden from selling their vegetables and fruit to tourists as they cannot guarantee that their water source is not polluted.

Gonzlez-Silvestre concludes: The problem with tourism is that its not regulated. Its like wine: one wants to say, Its a good antioxidant. Yes, but if you drink litres every day, youre not going to feel good.

Felipe Guerra Schleef is a lawyer for the indigenous rights NGO Observatorio Ciudadano. Convinced of the necessity for his country to conserve its cultural and natural heritage, he has defended indigenous people in cases where their land rights have been violated and resources exploited. The indigenous people develop their culture according to the land itself. The sense of ownership is fundamental, and if they want to maintain their way of life, their rights over their lands and natural resources must be recognised, he says.

The Lickan Antay need to act to protect theirnatural resources, according toAntonio Cruz Plaza. He lives in Calama, next to a large copper mine, and is director of Consejo de Pueblos Atacameos, an indigenous council. A nearby lithium mine is now for sale and he wants the council to take out a loan to buy it so it can be run ethically, although so far no negotiations with the company have taken place, and no loan has been approved by a bank.

While the thought of a group of indigenous people owning a mine, and profiting from the exploitation of natural resources, may shock some, and is certainly not supported by all community members, Cruz Plaza thinks it is a sensible idea.

We dont want confrontation, we want a better life. Our big problem is water. We dont want them to exploit and affect our water, so we prefer to negotiate where they will set up, ensure that this has the minimum impact on our environment. Our people are culturally rich, but we want to change our reality, to forge our own destiny. Why shouldnt we have the right to live well too?

An arid region of the Atacama desert.

The travel for this reporting was supported by the European Journalism Centres innovation in development reporting grant programme

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/tourism-starting-to-bleed-the-lickan-antay-people-of-the-atacama-desert-dry/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/172252733822